Remembering Forward Again
by microgirl
Summary: Another look at remembering the quirky and serendipitous road...GSR
1. Chapter 1

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone in regards to CSI; the show and its characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me. I am merely borrowing the characters for my own amusement. Dance puppets, dance._

_Author's Note: I have officially hit the one year mark in fic writing. Hooray! I wrote my very first story last year, and now have eleven posted stories to date. For my anniversary, I decided to give my first fic "Remembering Forward" an overhaul because it…it's, well…let's just say it needed it. Badly._

_To all the lovely readers who have left reviews, I thank you. Your kind comments and words always make me smile :) And they keep me writing. So there are plates and plates of cookies and waffles for you all. Thank you._

_And I am forever indebted to the uber-talented, super cool, my comrade-in-fluff EllipsesBandit. I couldn't ask for a better beta or a better friend. Also, the lovely Mingsmommy has leant her hand (well, eyes I guess) as a beta. She is rather cool person herself, and I am happy to have met her._

* * *

Chainsaw. 

No, that wasn't right. The pitch was off; a chainsaw had a higher sound than this. While this noise was definitely loud, a chainsaw was surprisingly more deafening.

A car engine, maybe?

That was wrong too. The sound can change depending on gear shifting or revving the motor. Also, car engines weren't half as annoying either.

An airplane propeller? No…

What else could it be?

A lawnmower! Yes!

That accurately described Gil Grissom's snoring.

Sara groaned and rolled to her right side. Propping herself on her elbow, she watched the man next to her sleep peacefully…and snore loudly. The sound was steady from Grissom's open mouth, and had been occurring for at least an hour and a half. She surmised he must be mowing one big yard. Hopefully, he hadn't killed any of his insect friends in Dreamland.

Almost eighteen months together had taught her he only snored when he was extremely exhausted. They had just come off a thirty-six hour shift so it was to be expected. But still, she needed sleep too.

When she had imagined her life with Grissom, this wasn't what Sara had in mind. Sure he would be quiet and aloof, but she always envisioned them spending the day reading books together, enjoying a relaxing dinner, then falling asleep wrapped in his solid arms. This fantasy life didn't include him flat on his back, taking up most of the room in their bed, apparently providing the soundtrack for someone cutting the grass at Wrigley Field.

Though, over two years ago, Sara would have been more than grateful for her current situation

* * *

_June 2005_

"Do you know what today it is?"

"The twenty third?"

"Yes, but I'm talking about what day of the week it is."

"The day before Friday?"

Sara smirked at Greg's mock scowl from across the table in the layout room. Deciding to indulge him, she finally answered, "It's Thursday."

"Exactly!" he beamed. "And you know what that means?"

"That there are one hundred and ninety one days left in the year."

He let a few photographs fall to the table with an annoyed huff, and this time Sara did laugh. "I know what today is," she told him, "It's the team breakfast day."

When he nodded eagerly, she continued, "And you get to choose the restaurant this time."

"Yes! I've found the perfect place too. They serve the best waffles in the state," he proudly declared.

"What's it called?"

"The Waffle Hut. It's next to a set of shops near the Monaco." His eyes brightened with the mention of his discovery. "They have all kinds of waffles; blueberry, strawberry, tripleberry, chocolate chip, pumpkin--"

"Sounds great," she interrupted before the newest C.S.I. got carried away.

He looked expectantly at her. "So you'll be there, right?"

"Of course."

-----------------------------

After shift ended, Sara rode with Greg to The Waffle Hut. During the ride he happily chattered away about the plethora of waffles. While he debated between getting the apple-cinnamon or the chocolate-caramel, she silently hoped for a regular buttermilk waffle.

They walked into the restaurant to find Warrick and Nick already seated at a booth.

"Where are Catherine and Grissom?" Greg asked as he and Sara sat down.

"Catherine had a robbery in Henderson so she'll be a little late and Grissom is just finishing up the assault at the MGM," Warrick informed them.

The nightshift team had been having weekly breakfasts for over a month now. It started when Nick returned to work. The six of them, along with Brass, had gone out as an unofficial celebration to having Nick back and their crew reunited. At the diner, Greg suggested they do this more often, and everyone agreed to meet once a week. Catherine came up with the idea that someone got to choose where they went each time.

A few minutes later Grissom walked in the door, and just as they were ready to order, Catherine and Brass joined the group. The conversations stayed animated and cheerful as they discussed their weekend plans, the latest movie releases, and other non-work related topics.

After the waitress placed the bill on the table, Greg pulled out his wallet, and announced, "Well, I have to be going now. I have to pick up my suit for my big date tonight."

Nick looked skeptical, but he gave the young man the benefit of the doubt. "Your _suit_? Where are you going that's so fancy?"

"Venezia Tower," Greg answered haughtily.

"So you managed to score yourself a sugar mama," Warrick deadpanned.

Sara smirked at the remark. "Either that or he's really bribing the girl."

"_Actually_," Greg said as they chuckled, "her name is _Doctor_ Emily Gardner, _head_ of neurology at Desert Palm. She is one of the most sought out neurologists in the country." At Nick and Warrick's dropped jaws, his smile turned more devilish. "_And _this will be our fifth date." With that, he stood up, dropped a few dollars next to the bill, and sauntered out the door.

The silence that had taken over the group was broken when Brass said, "She must not be that great of neurologist if she's going out with Sanders."

Sara had been so distracted by Greg's exit that she forgot she didn't have a way to get back to lab. When she asked for a ride, Grissom was unsurprisingly the first to volunteer.

"We'll have to walk to the MGM because I left my car over there," he informed her.

"You left your car at a hotel, full of evidence?"

He made a sour face. "Of course not. The dayshift C.S.I. took it back to the lab."

"Just checking."

---------------------------------------------

It was only ten a.m., and Sara was already sweating. At least in San Francisco the rain offered some reprieve from the blazing sun. Grissom seemed unaffected as they made their way to the hotel.

Over the last the couple of months, they had slowly begun to rebuild their friendship. She wasn't sure when the shift started, but she noticed Grissom coming to her often with new journal articles she might find interesting. He also assigned her to work more cases with him. Then there was the one occasion where he came and had lunch with her in the break room. Of course, no more than twenty words passed between them, but he had been there nonetheless.

Sara was thrown completely off guard when Grissom approached her the night Nick returned, asking her to meet with him after breakfast because he needed to speak with her about something important. The meeting never occurred as she had been paged to another scene. They tried again a couple of days later, but this time Grissom ended up in court all day and left her sitting at a booth in the diner for half an hour before he got a chance to call her.

The sidewalk led the two by the Monaco Hotel and Casino. Sara unconsciously slowed her steps as they passed the entrance. She glanced wistfully at the roof, thinking of the day she arrived in Las Vegas. At the time she had been thrilled to work with Grissom again, but she wondered if she knew what awaited her during the last six years, would she have come at all?

Grissom slowed down with her and appeared to be deep in thought, his brows were drawn tightly together. Turning her head to the left briefly, she saw him trying to control the emotion in those powerful blue eyes. Was he thinking about that day too?

As they passed a large group of tourists lingering at the entrance, Sara decided to speak. "You think they're waiting to see some dummies fly off of the roof?"

"Possibly," he answered with slight amusement. He stopped by a small garden of bright flowers. "You know, the hotel wanted me to come back as an act."

"Gil Grissom and his Amazing Falling Normans."

He gave her a crooked smile. "According to a certain source, when Norman fell, he deserved it."

"I didn't say he _deserved_ it," she defended. "But Mr. Roper wasn't the greatest husband."

"Mrs. Roper always forgave him."

"For reasons unknown."

He frowned for a moment, then stated, "She wasn't the only one. There was Louise Jefferson."

"That's one I never understood!" Sara exclaimed. "George was horrible; always teasing her and being a pain in the ass."

"Marge Simpson," he continued to point out.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she groaned. "Homer was probably the worst one. If he wasn't being an insensitive clod, he was squandering money or drinking or totaling the family car or losing his children."

"Why do you think those women stayed with those men?"

The question made Sara's breath catch in her throat. The conversation was taking a different turn. She debated on the best way to answer without letting on to her feelings. Finally she came up with, "Even though it's T.V., the women knew the men…cared about them."

"You're right," he agreed quietly. "Those men at one point or another showed their wives they meant something to them."

_If only the same was for true Grissom_. She took a deep breath to control the wave of sadness that passed through her. He finally looked at her and opened his mouth…but no words came out. After several attempts, he finally managed, "I'm sorry, Sara."

Now she was stumped for a response, but eventually asked, "For what?"

He sighed heavily. "For…for…being like those men." Grissom closed his eyes, clearly frustrated with himself. "I mean, I never squandered your money or totaled your car or…I just…I never showed you that…I wanted…" Stopping again, he balled his fist to regain some composure.

"Grissom, what are you trying to say?" she whispered. Her heart was optimistic, but her head was trying to be sensible.

There was that fish-out-of-water impersonation again. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but common sense told her to be quiet. For once.

"I know." Another breath. "I know I can do this," he clarified, pointing to both of them. "That's what I've wanted to tell you." He swallowed, and kept going. "There will be times where I'll be aloof and I'll need some guidance. But I can do this."

Sara thought there might have something wrong with her ears because she couldn't believe she heard those words. From Gil Grissom. This had to be something from television or a dream, right? But the sweat trickling down her neck and her pounding heart told her she was in real life. That awkward scientist she adored for the better part of ten years was actually standing there telling her his feelings. She might have cried, but the fact the man looked like he was going to pass out caused her to fight a laughing fit.

"And Sara, I do…you are spec-I do…care about you," he finished in the most sincere tone.

That did it; she had to use every ounce of her self-control not to break down. The incredibly light feeling that washed over her was overwhelming because it was the first time she didn't feel burdened with doubt. He _cared_ about her; not as co-worker, not as friend, but as something more. She suspected he had other things to say, but all the blood had drained from his face and he must have gathered all of his courage for this. And honestly, she heard what she needed.

"Okay," she said after they stared at each other for a moment.

"Okay?" He repeated her words as if he couldn't understand it.

A sob mixed with a chuckle escaped Sara's mouth. "Yeah."

Grissom balled both of fists again, the knuckles turning white. He clenched his jaw as he appeared to use the last of his strength to pull her into a gentle hug. His timing couldn't have been better because Sara's knees had been ready to give out.

His body was softer than she imagined, but it possessed a certain amount of strength. She had never seen him hug any one else-not even Catherine-so at one time she wasn't sure if he would even be affectionate. But his arms were wrapped around her tightly, silently reinforcing his words.

After what could have been hours, Grissom put his lips to her ear. "What happens now?"

Shivers went down her spine from his low voice. "The audience applauds at the man's apology."

Even though she couldn't see him, she knew he was grinning. "So now should promise I won't let my tarantula come between us?"

She laughed into his shoulder. "I think I hear the laugh track now."

* * *

Sighing, Sara continued to watch the snoring man. It turned out Grissom was right; he didn't spend of his free time drinking beer and watching television. And he didn't try harboring circus animals. He did have aloof moments, and needed to be helped more than once. 

But like her female counterparts on television, she never doubted his feelings for her.

This was ridiculous. She was never going to get any sleep at this rate. She considered banishing him to the couch, but the ring gleaming from his left hand reminded her of their vows. For better or for worse, right? Gently rubbing his shoulder, she tried waking him up. "Gil…Gil…Gil…" she whispered.

He gave a sort of final snort and opened his bleary eyes. "Hmmm?"

"You-you're snoring, sweetie. You need to roll over."

"Mrrrrmmm," he mumbled, preparing to go back to sleep without changing his position.

"No, you need to move." She tried again as she gently tugged at his side. Taking the hint, Grissom grumbled one last time while he settled on his left side. The snoring was soon replaced with deep breathing.

Sara rolled her eyes. She often wondered why she had such infinite patience with the quiet, stolid, enigmatic Gil Grissom…

With her back toward him, she had just closed her eyes when he put an arm around her waist and nuzzled his face into her neck. His pleased rumble vibrated against her back as he fell asleep again.

…and now she remembered.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Remembering Forward Again _

_Chapter 2_

_A/N: Thank to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. You made my first anniversary great :) And of course, cookies and waffles to EllipsesBandit and Mingsmommy, who the greatest betas. Thank you ladies for your time and help._

* * *

Saturday morning. 

Was there ever a greater pair of words in the English language?

Possibly. _Arrested suspect_ was always music to Sara's ears; one less murderer or child abuser off the streets. Then there was _free chocolate_. Who didn't love receiving a sweet treat at no cost? And then of course, _great sex_. That one…well, didn't need to be clarified and was possibly only surpassed by _multiple orgasms_.

Alright, Saturday morning wasn't the greatest pair of words, but they certainly were among the best.

Sara opened her eyes to the morning sun entering through a small slit in the curtains. The clock on her night stand displayed 9:12. On their Saturdays off, she and Grissom would typically enjoy a nice breakfast, followed by some light household chores. If errands needed to be run, they were also completed. They would end the day on the back porch swing, each reading a book.

After mentally running through the list for the day, Sara stretched her legs in an effort to get up. But her husband, who she thought was asleep, gently pulled her closer to his chest. He rested his forehead against the back of her shoulder just before he placed his lips there. Sighing in contentment, she sank back into the warm sheets.

Grissom continued peppering her skin with small kisses until his mouth reached the junction of her shoulder and neck where he lingered for a long moment. When he let go, she turned to lie on her back.

"Good morning," she whispered.

His eyes were soft. "Good morning," he replied. As he lowered his head to her mouth, she quickly covered his lips, halting the action.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked.

"I was going to kiss you?" Grissom's voice was slightly muffled by her palm.

She removed the hand. "On the lips?"

His eyebrows were knitted tightly together in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Morning breath," she pointed out. When he didn't respond, she sighed. "This isn't television where the characters can wake up and indulge in a ten second, open-mouth kiss."

"Besides," she went on, "you don't want a repeat of our first kiss do you?"

* * *

_July 2005_

Sara opened the magazine again. _The most powerful particle accelerator in the world is the Tevatron, ring-shaped, stainless steel corridor four miles long that can_… She'd read the beginning of the paragraph five times now. Her eyes could not make it any further down the page because she kept glancing at the clock on the cable box. 5:48 pm. Where was he?

Grissom had asked her earlier in the week if she wanted to go to a baseball game. It turned out he frequently purchased tickets for the Las Vegas minor league team. She wasn't a big baseball fan, but couldn't resist his boyish excitement when he told her about the game.

At 5:53 there was a knock on her door. When she opened it, she was greeted to the sight of a Grissom she'd never seen before.

He wore tennis shoes and light-colored jeans. His pocketed, royal blue t-shirt matched his ball cap. The color brought out his eyes, making them sparkle.

But it was the hat that made her silently giggle; the cap had a grey alien face stitched to the front. She knew it represented the Las Vegas 51s -- named after Area 51.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had to pick up some essentials for the game," he told her.

"Essentials? And those would be…"

"Some peanuts and Cracker Jacks."

She chuckled a little at that and shook her head, adding, "I, uh…like your cap."

It seemed like he missed her smirk because he simply answered, "Thank you. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. Take me out to the ball game."

------------------

Catherine always complained that chivalry was dead, that men didn't have to extend more courtesy than required to a woman. To Sara's relief, it meant her blonde colleague had never dated Grissom. The man always treated her above all, and tonight was no exception. He opened the car's passenger door, waited until she was in her seat, closed it, and made his way to other side.

It didn't stop there either. If a restaurant was busy and there was no available parking space close by, he would drop her off at the door while he parked in the back. He pulled out chairs and always allowed her to order first.

The end of their dates also showed his class; whenever he dropped her off, Grissom walked her to the front door. Yet, he never made any attempts to get invited inside.

And no matter what, he always gave her a kiss on the cheek before saying good bye. Truthfully, Sara wanted to know how those velvety lips would feel against her own. She knew though, that he did things in his own time, and she didn't want to push him. She had waited ten years; another few weeks were no hardship. Although, if it seemed like it was going to take another ten years to get their first _real_ kiss, he would get a little nudging.

While it had cooled down significantly from earlier in the day, the evening was still fairly hot. The couple got to their seats with ease, and they settled to watch the game.

Remembering their conversation at the hockey rink so many years ago Sara turned to him, and said, "All right, where is the beauty in this?"

Grissom looked at with that endearing quizzical expression. "You don't see it?"

"I see a group of steroid-pumped, overpaid men mentally equivalent to fourth graders hitting a ball with a stick."

Putting his arm gently around her shoulders, he directed her attention to the field. "Look at the diamond."

She found it a little difficult to observe when his arm touched her shoulder, but she found her concentration somehow. It looked like a diamond.

Sara shrugged her shoulders. "I still don't see it."

"Look at the foul lines. They're perfectly straight, dividing the diamond equally. Balance in a chaotic game."

She turned her eyes to the field again and she could see it this time. The white lines standing out against the dark brown earth. The emerald green shimmering under the brilliant lights.

"I see it," she answered in a hushed voice. She felt his eyes lingering on her before they turned back to the field.

"So you see the symmetry?"

"No. It's the colors."

He seemed perplexed for a moment before turning to the field again. She watched him out of the corner of her eye; he studied as if it were a new species of beetle: familiar, but unique.

He smiled at her and asked, "Would you like to help me keep score?"

As the game started Grissom patiently explained all the numbers and symbols used in the book. He showed her how to record outs, hits, and strikes. His easy-going voice never talked down to her. It was those traits that made him an excellent teacher.

By the fourth inning, she became quite proficient with the numbers, and told him she could handle scoring when he offered to buy some food.

Sara politely asked him to get her some nachos, and just as he was about to head up the steps, she called his name. "You know I read somewhere that 'a hotdog at the ball park tastes better than a steak at the Ritz,'" she stated, obviously proud of herself.

"And who said that?"

While Grissom's tone was mild, she couldn't help but notice his lips twitch into a brief smirk. Of course he knew the source. But he was allowing her this small moment of glory. Good man.

But it still earned him a bit of teasing. "_Humphrey Bogart_. Now I know how you like to prove these kinds of things for yourself, so I wouldn't have a problem if you got a hotdog."

This time, his smirk didn't disappear as quickly. He nodded before he left.

He'd been so considerate during their first few dates. When they shared meals, his food had little to no meat. While she found it sweet, Sara knew Grissom enjoyed a good piece of steak. She had told him she didn't have a problem if he wanted to have meat, just as long as the food didn't "moo" when it arrived to the table. And cleaning it up was certainly out of the question.

A few minutes later he appeared, carrying the food and a small plastic bag hanging from his wrist. He handed her the nachos and she noticed he had gotten himself a chili dog with barbeque chips. Of course, she could only suspect it was a chili dog because the shredded cheese covered everything except some of the bun.

After sitting down, Grissom opened the bag. "I got this for you, too." His eyes didn't quite meet hers as he shyly handed her the infamous alien cap.

She stared at it for a few moments, amazed at his linear thinking. According to his thought process, she complimented the hat, therefore she must want one. Glancing at him, she found Grissom nervously trying to gauge her reaction. The blue hat immediately went on her head and she rewarded him with a bright smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

The two of them enjoyed the rest of the game. Sara was surprised when she heard him whistle and cheer the 51s on to a win. He was obviously having fun and being carefree; she'd gladly watch the Ken Burns baseball documentary if she got to see this side of him more often.

There was no climatic ending to the game as the Las Vegas 51s were able to win easily with a score of 8-2. Grissom packed the leftover snacks and the score book in his bag, and the two headed out. As they walked side-by-side, their hands would occasionally brush against each other. When her arm bumped his again, he carefully entwined her fingers.

Her smaller hand fit naturally into his larger one. His skin was slightly rough, but she wasn't about to let go. The comfortable, warm feeling stayed with her as they continued to the car and on the drive to her apartment.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight," he quietly said while they stood in front of her door.

Sara tilted her head to the side, grinning. "I had a great time."

His soft whiskers tickled the skin on her cheek as he kissed her goodnight. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Thanks again for the hat," she told him happily. "I'll be sure to wear it the next time we go to a game."

He seemed relieved by her words because she heard him let out a breath of air and then smile widely. But just as quickly, his expression turned serious. Instead of leaving, she was surprised when he took a step toward her. His eyes looked different, but maybe that was because she had never seen them this close before. He smelled like grass, peanuts, baseball, and Grissom. She heard her heart thundering away as he leaned in closer to claim her lips.

Sara never experienced any kiss like this; his lips were soft, and he was incredibly gentle. Her brain melted at the simple, brief touch.

Grissom's eyes were still closed when he pulled back. As he opened them, a small grin appeared. "Good night," he whispered.

This time, she was not going to let him off that easy.

Their lips touched again, and she spent a few minutes simply reveling in the feel of him. Nudging her tongue against his mouth, he immediately complied. She couldn't wait to figure out how he tasted. For some reason, she had always thought he would taste like vanilla…when she suddenly pulled back.

Sara had forgotten about the chili dog. With onions. Combined with the popcorn and barbeque chips. He tasted…he tasted…well, not like vanilla.

He must have tasted something similar in her mouth because he had the same look of politely suppressed disgust. It was then she realized her breath wasn't that good either. She didn't pop any mints to cover up the nachos and the other salty snacks she indulged in because she never expected him to kiss her on the lips tonight.

They both chuckled at this predicament. This definitely was not how she imagined her first kiss with him. Her fantasy had involved something shy, but sweet and the darkness and Grissom and vanilla. Not chili dog breath. Although she had to admit he looked rather cute fighting against his embarrassment.

She felt all the blood traveling to her face; she had to be bright red by now. Using what last bit of strength she had, and there wasn't much, she kissed Grissom quickly on the cheek, told him goodnight, and entered her apartment.

Once she closed the door, she started to laugh. She just hoped this was a minor set back and he would not be afraid to kiss her again.

Sara knew that wasn't going to the case as she heard him chuckling on the other side of her door.

She made a mental note to have LifeSavers with her at the next game.

* * *

Much to her delight, with no chili dogs preceding, Sara discovered Grissom tasted like sugar cookies; fresh-from-the-oven sugar cookies. And like her vice for actual cookies, she could never resist his kisses. It was impossible to have just one. 

She cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for a response.

Grissom merely smiled as he brought his face close to hers again. His breath smelled…different when he spoke. "That's why I'm always prepared." A small, white circular piece of candy appeared between his teeth.

"Is that a--"

"Wintergreen LifeSaver," he finished. Leaning over to his side of the bed, he grabbed something from the top of the small table. Then he was back over her, popping a LifeSaver in her mouth. Blushing slightly, he muttered, "I keep some in the top drawer of my nightstand."

Sara's laughter was covered by minty kisses.

-----------------------------------------------------

_Yup, it's back to the LifeSavers, the greatest candy ever :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 3_

_A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm having a lot of fun revisiting this story. Waffles for all! And an extra special batch for Ellipsesbandit for her continued help and beta-ing services and to Mingsmommy for all her lovely suggestions :)_

* * *

"Sara! Are you ready to go?"

"Almost!" she called back. "Give me a minute."

_I've already given you fifteen of them._ Grissom sighed and went back to checking his email. One of the many things he loved about his wife was that it didn't take her long to get ready to go out. A quick perusal of the closet, followed by a little makeup and some hair brushing, and she'd be set to leave. But for some reason, it was taking her longer this morning causing him to wonder if she was testing his patience.

She passed by the open door of their home office several times, muttering to herself. Each time she went by, her steps grew heavier and her cursing started to become louder. Finally her movements culminated in a loud "Damn it!" that could be heard from the living room.

Concerned, he got up from the desk chair to see what had upset Sara. He found her angrily moving around the magazines and books on the coffee table.

"Are you looking for something?" he carefully asked.

Stopping her apparently frantic search, she frustratingly admitted, "I can't find my rings."

Grissom didn't say a word as he processed the information. She'd lost her rings.

Sara Grissom, brilliant C.S.I, who could find the tiniest pieces of evidence from errant hairs in a pipe to spotting lamps in photo negatives, couldn't find her rings.

The wedding ring he gave her with the promise of the rest of his life. The engagement ring that was the prelude to that promise. The engagement ring he painstakingly picked out. The engagement ring that had already been lost once…

* * *

_August 2006_

"14 down. An eight letter word for connubiality."

"Marriage."

"Right. Down with marriage."

Grissom's comment didn't go unnoticed by Sara; she rolled her eyes as he typed the answer. They were lounging in bed, completing their weekly crossword puzzle.

She gazed up from her position stretched along his right side. "I never said 'down with marriage.'"

"Greg said you described the Chase wedding as a 'nuptial neverland where the cheese factor was dangerously high and the flowers obviously fake.'"

"That's not the same thing."

"Yes, dear."

Sighing, she pushed herself up to sit next to him. "I'm not against marriage."

He quirked an eyebrow. "But you are against weddings."

"Not at all," she clarified. "I like the idea of two people agreeing to spend the rest of their lives together and the celebration with that. But is it necessary for the celebration to include seven bridesmaids with designer dresses, professional catering, and fifty dozen white lilies?"

When Grissom merely shrugged, she continued, "I just think all of that stuff takes away from what the wedding should be about."

"The bride?"

"The _vows_," she stated, but not before giving him a light smack to the leg. "Those need to be the center of attention, and the fact the people are going to take them seriously."

He set the laptop aside and took off his glasses. "How would a bride overcome the traditions that inevitably result in rampant commercialism?"

She stared at the comforter for a moment before replying. "I'd just make it simple. Self-written vows, a judge or a justice of the peace, a few close friends, family…" Shifting slightly, she resumed her original position with her head on his shoulder. Then her forehead wrinkled in question. "Why do you ask?"

-------------------------------

Grissom carefully observed the tourists rushing from one casino to the next. The afternoon had reached one-hundred twelve degrees, causing everyone to want to keep to the air conditioned hotels. Days like today made him glad he had shaved his beard. His face no longer felt suffocated by the extra hair. In the shade of some trees, he checked his watch again, hoping Catherine would arrive soon.

For several weeks, he had known he wanted to marry Sara. It was just another Thursday evening when the realization hit him. The alarm had gone off, and he went to rouse the woman next to him. As soon as she opened her brown eyes, Sara smiled at him; the bright, wide, gap-toothed smile. He hadn't said or done anything, other than simply be the man in the same bed.

Her comments from the Diane Chase investigation popped into his mind every time he opened a jewelry catalogue. The booklets ended up in the back of one of his desk drawers. But their discussion five days ago had put his plan back into motion. He took the first available day off he could, and made sure Catherine wasn't scheduled either.

"Well, I'd never thought I'd see the day where you would be getting married," the blonde C.S.I. announced as she put her sunglasses on her head.

"I haven't asked her yet."

Catherine snorted. "Like she's going to say no." She considered her statement. "Although, she might if you walked out of there with the wrong ring." Sweeping her hair of her shoulder, she added, "You should consider yourself lucky that you have my expertise."

He began to wonder if having her help was worth it. "Of course. Where would I be without you?" he deadpanned.

"With no fiancée and thousands of dollars wrapped up in an ugly ring."

Both mock glared at each other before entering the store. Grissom walked to a case displaying yellow gold rings. As he examined the selection, he glanced up to find Catherine staring at him with a "you've-to-be-kidding-me?" expression. Next were the rings decorated with many colored gems, and he heard a cough. His colleague shook her head while she pretended to be looking at bracelets.

When she noticed him staring at her, Catherine tentatively asked, "You're not actually considering those, are you?"

He sighed. "No, but I want to see everything before I start eliminating possibilities."

"Right," she muttered.

A brunette saleswoman approached the pair. "Can I help you two find something?"

Before he got a chance to open his mouth, he heard Catherine chime in, "Yes, we're looking for an engagement ring. He'll need something, plain-I mean, not flashy. A ring with a diamond, and--"

He gently squeezed her shoulder to interrupt her rant. Turning to the saleswoman, he smiled politely. "Excuse me, Lisa," he read from her nametag, "My name is Gil Grissom, and _I_ am looking for an engagement ring."

"Congratulations sir. Did you have something particular in mind?"

Grissom pursed his lips in thought. "I'm not quite sure. I was thinking of a simple diamond setting."

"A platinum band," Catherine whispered to him.

He refrained from rolling his eyes. "With a platinum band."

They spent the next 45 minutes going through the store's platinum selection. Catherine proved to be more helpful as he eliminated choices. Ultimately he decided on an oval shaped diamond with four smaller diamonds on either side.

"What size did you need this in?" Lisa asked.

"Size?"

"You don't know Sara's ring size?" Catherine stated, annoyed at his answer.

Luckily, Lisa jumped in. "That's not a problem sir; a lot of men don't know ring sizes. If you get the ring too big, it will be easier to resize than if it's too small."

After making his purchase he thanked the saleswoman and him and Catherine left.

"Now all you have to do is the pop the question. What are you going to do? Romantic dinner by candlelight? Rose petals from the door to table where you'll be waiting in a tux?" she teased.

He gave her one of his typical stoic expressions. "Thank you for your help Catherine."

"You're welcome. Who knows what you could've walked out with if I wasn't there?" He offered her a small smile and started toward his car.

She called his name and when he turned around she told him "Congratulations. Sara will love the ring." And with that, she placed the sunglasses over her eyes, and walked away.

---------------------

Truthfully he hadn't given a lot of thought to the proposal. He couldn't produce the kind of setting Catherine talked about, even if she was kidding. Plus, it seemed too conventional.

Grissom noticed his pulse rate increasing as he drove closer to the townhouse. What kind of proposal did Sara want? Logic told him if she wanted a simple wedding, than a simple proposal would suffice. She probably wouldn't like an overly clichéd romantic setting or something extravagant like 'Marry me, Sara' on the scoreboard at a 51s game. So it would be fine if he asked her when he arrived. But he was asking her to marry him; it had to be somewhat romantic. Simple _and_ romantic, he reminded himself. That wasn't too difficult. He'd get down on one knee and use the words of one of his favorite poets. Perfect.

As he approached the steps of the townhouse he exhaled a few times to calm his nerves. She wouldn't be able to answer if he stuttered his way through his speech.

"Hey. Where have you been all afternoon?" Sara greeted, from her position on the couch.

"I had an important errand to run." He hoped she didn't notice him wiping his palms on his pants. He moved to sit next to her.

"Important, huh? Did you find some new, hairy bug you want to bring home?"

"No. Sara, I…" He balled a fist for a second. "There's something I want to…" That wasn't a romantic start. "Robert Browning once…" He closed his eyes and breathed in again. Why were his poets and authors failing him? They never had in the past, but nothing could adequately express how he felt about her. Perhaps he'd try something completely different. He'd use his own words.

"Gil, are you all right? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine." Another breath. "Sara, I--" and was promptly cut off by the loud ringing of a cell phone.

"Shoot, that's mine. Hold on a sec." She went over to the kitchen island to answer the call. Grissom cursed under breath and deplored whoever called at this moment.

"That was Brass; swing shift is tapped out and he needs us for a double homicide." She continued to give him details of the case, and he knew the moment was lost. Murder cases hardly put one in a romantic mood.

-----------------------

The evidence collection and processing had taken an extraordinary amount of time; they didn't get back until 10 o'clock the next morning. Grissom was tired and hungry, and his mind was far from a marriage proposal. Before heading to a blissful day's sleep, he decided to make them breakfast.

Cooking was his favorite indulgence as he could make it his own series of experiments. The recipes, he treated as controls, the standard to how the food should look and taste. And throughout the years, he tweaked the amount of ingredients and sometimes added personal touches. There were some recipes though that didn't require modifications.

One being his mother's waffle recipe. The waffles had been delicious since he could remember. It was also one of the few foods he didn't make in front of Sara because his mother was adamant about keeping the recipe in the family. He wondered if she would change her mind once he got married…

Two thin arms slid around his waist, and he felt her eyes looking over her shoulder.

"I already put the ingredients away," he said mildly.

Sara huffed in protest. "I was just saying 'hi.'"

"Okay."

She let him go, and he took the waffles out of the waffle iron. Turning around, he found her in a pair of grey lounge pants and one of his UCLA t-shirts, looking endearingly beautiful.

Her arms crossed her chest in challenge. "You'll have to show me how to make those sometime."

Shaking his head, he handed her a plate. "Sara, as long as I'm around, you won't have to worry about waffles." He then joined her at the table.

"But sadly, there will come a day where you won't be around," she pointed out. She poured a liberal amount of syrup on his perfect creation. "And then what? I'll be forced to go to another man for waffles." After swallowing a bite, she cocked her head to the side. "I wonder what Greg's recipe is like?"

The fork didn't make to his mouth as his right hand remained on the table. He didn't do anything except stare at the woman across from him. She tried to appear serious, but it was obvious she was fighting a grin. Eventually, he explained, "I would love to give you the recipe, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's my mother's recipe. It's a secret."

"Really?"

"It started out as a pancake recipe that has stayed in my mother's family for years. When waffle irons were introduced, they started making waffles." He ate some of subject at hand. "She made them all the time when I was a kid. It took me years to get that recipe; I had to swear on my ant farm I wouldn't give it to anyone."

She started to giggle and Grissom furrowed his eyebrows. "What's so funny?"

She continued to laugh. "I can just picture you as a four-year-old, eating your waffles, and writing a letter to Roy Rogers with a fat, blue crayon."

"And what is so funny about that?" he asked, still confused.

Sara got up to clear the dishes and she came around behind him. She circled her arm around his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck; he felt the familiar tickle of warmth generated by the action. "Absolutely nothing," she answered, and picked up his dishes and headed to the sink.

"What did your letter say?"

"'Dear Mr. Rogers. Trigger is the greatest horse in the world. What is his favorite food so I can send him some? Your fan, Gilbert Grissom.' And the crayon was _brown_."

She started to laugh again, and while he didn't think it was quite _that_ funny, he still enjoyed the sound. He realized he had been thinking far too hard about this. "Sara, you know there's a way to insure you never have to go without these waffles…"

"Chain you to the waffle iron?"

"No, but if you agreed…t-to…I could give you the recipe," he managed to stammer.

She turned her head just enough to smirk at him. "You just told me it had to stay in the family."

"What if…" He briefly gritted his teeth in frustration. "I-I'm asking you…to-to be my family."

"For waffles?"

"No…I…" He decided it would be easier if he was near her. Climbing from his chair, he went to stand behind her. He looped his arms around her waist and held her to him tightly. Grissom pressed his nose into her hair, and inhaled the citrus scent. To calm his pounding heart he took another breath, and whispered in her ear, "Will you marry me?"

She froze as if he just asked her if his pet tarantula could sleep in the bed with them. The water was still running. "What did you say?" she asked in a shaky voice.

He chuckled quietly as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out the ring. He held it in front of her, with his other arm still around her, and repeated "Will you marry me?"

It seemed as if hours passed while he waited for her answer. Her body was trembling, and he heard the tears when she spoke very softly. "Yes I'll marry you."

As he slipped the ring on her finger, he realized the ring matched her skin tone perfectly. The diamonds sparkled almost as brightly as her eyes. This made up for all of the heartache of the past five years.

Relief flooded Grissom when he realized she accepted. His pulse decreased and the muscles in his shoulders loosened. He pulled his hand away to kiss her…

And heard the_ tink_ as the ring slipped off her finger and skated down the drain.

A silent moment of disbelief before Sara uttered an exceptionally loud "Shit!" She immediately shut off the water and plunged her hand down the drain.

Grissom watched, amused, knowing he made the right decision.

They spent the next 3 hours learning elementary plumbing.

* * *

"I'll help you look for them," he offered.

Grissom managed to hear a "thank you" as Sara continued her search. He walked to the office, and picked the rings up from where she had taken them off. She had left them there the previous evening, taking a detour on her way to the bathroom. It was likely she stopped to use the computer, and with her mind on her shower, took them off at the desk in an effort not to lose the rings. He had found the jewelry next to the speakers that morning.

Before heading back to the living room, he glanced at the bookshelf, and noticed a book that was out of place. He took the text with him as he left.

"Tell me you found them." Her eyes widened with hope.

"No, honey." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I did find something that might help you." With a solemn expression, he handed her the book.

_1-2-3 Easy Plumbing _fell to the floor with a _thud_ and the next thing he felt was a _thump_ as a throw pillow connected with his head.


	4. Chapter 4

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 4_

_A/N: My biggest thanks to all of you who have left your comments; they always make smile :) And of course, thank you to EllipsesBandit for her comma expertise and the use of her machete for shortening this chapter. A plate of my best chocolate chip cookies, and then some to Mingsmommy for catching some glaring errors._

* * *

Greg always credited himself with finding the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants; however the young man couldn't claim the discovery of Avogadro's Number, a sandwich shop near UNLV. Grissom found the place his first year in Las Vegas, and had been coming back since. He was grateful for the late night hours of college students; because of them he had been able to pick up a meatball sandwich at two 'o clock in the morning for years. Now it was his favorite place to have lunch with his wife. 

After the waiter left, Grissom reached across the table and placed his hand over Sara's. "So, I-uh got a call from Bert Gaiman on Monday."

"Who's that?"

Keeping his eyes locked on their hands, he cleared his throat. "He's-uh, he's…the dean." He swallowed. "Of Williams College." He looked up to see her carefully working her jaw.

"Okay," she said slowly. After a deep breath she asked, "What did he want?"

"Apparently some students requested a summer program, so he asked me to come in June." He quickly added, "Just for two weeks."

"That's great." She smiled genuinely at him, but he could still see a little sadness in her eyes. "Are you going?"

"I told Bert that if I visited again, I'd probably need a bigger room."

"Why?"

"Because I said I was going ask my wife to join me."

She blinked a few times in surprise. "Really?"

Nodding, he told her, "You've still got ten weeks of vacation so getting time off wouldn't be a problem. And the summer classes will be shorter; we would be able to see Boston in the afternoons."

While his previous sabbatical had been a much needed break from the lab, he had discovered some painful truths being away from Sara: he had been too warm at night, having all the covers to himself; no one cared if he left a mess of papers and journals on the desk; and the sound of her laughter on the phone just wasn't the same as in person.

Her grin grew infinitely bigger. "I'd love to come along." She let her thumb brush across his left ring finger. "Thank you."

Relief untied the several knots that had taken up residence in his stomach. "I've been to Boston several times, but I've never--" the moment was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Groaning, he quickly removed the offending object from the clip on his belt.

"Grissom," he answered brusquely.

It was Conrad Ecklie informing him of bodies found with massive insect activity. When the entomologist asked where the bodies were located, Sara mouthed, "Work?" He mouthed back, "Yes" as he continued to listen. Knowing he was going to leave in a few minutes, she nodded in acceptance.

It was another one of those many times Gil was grateful for such an understanding wife.

* * *

_September 2005_

Cold beer, a cool Las Vegas day, the porch swing on the balcony, a Chicago Cubs game on the radio, and of course Sara-all the essentials for a perfect afternoon.

Sara didn't appreciate baseball the way he did, but she still sat with him. She'd curl up next to him with a book or a journal. At the moment she was reading _Eats, Shoots and Leaves_. She giggled a few times when he cheered his favorite team or got frustrated over the Rockies scoring a run.

He took a pull from the beer bottle before letting his arm settle around her back. "Do you know what important day is next week?"

She looked up. "I have to play this game with you, too?"

"What?"

Shaking her head, she smiled. "Never mind." She placed the book in her lap. "You are probably referring to my birthday."

"Right." He paused before nervously asking. "Do you want to do anything?"

She remained silent as she traced a small pattern on his chest. Finally she answered, "I really haven't done anything for my birthday the last couple of years, so we don't have to."

Letting his arms tighten around her slightly, he rested his cheek on her hair. "What if we did something small? Just us?"

"Like what?"

He took a breath, trying to make his suggestion sound casual, "How about I come over to your apartment, and cook you dinner?"

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

He smiled as she continued to stare at him with a surprised expression. Sitting up properly, she shrugged a little. "Well-uh, what…would you make?"

"Anything you wanted."

A breath went through her nose while she stared off into the distance. After thinking, she eventually replied, "It doesn't have to be anything fancy…something like your vegetarian lasagna; the great recipe you found with the zucchini."

"The one with the homemade sauce?"

"Yeah," she grinned.

"Okay." He started making a mental list of groceries he needed along with the cooking utensils he was sure he'd have to bring. Sara owned two baking pans that she used to make cookies from the tubes of dough and three pots, one of which was used on a regular basis to boil water for macaroni and cheese. Grissom was fairly certain she might even have a serving spoon…somewhere. "Anything else?"

"Maybe a salad…and that cream cheese garlic bread." She settled against him, this time entwining their fingers.

"So you want salad, lasagna, and garlic bread."

"And cake," she added hopefully. "A marble cake with your homemade frosting."

"I don't know if I have a pan big enough to hold a cake with 34 candles," he said as he closed his eyes.

He chuckled when she poked him in the stomach. "Next year, we'll need a fireman on hand to supervise lighting your cake."

-------------------------------------------------

The following Friday afternoon, Grissom let himself into Sara's apartment, armed with bags of food. He felt strange being in her home without her, but he wanted to set up the evening on his own.

He set the cake on the counter, and the sauce, also prepared, went on the stove to be heated. Grissom opened a bag and brought two candle sticks to the table. Then he started placing other candles throughout the living room. When he finished, he went back to the kitchen.

As he started to cut the vegetables, he mentally ran through the evening's schedule. After the lasagna was put in the oven, he'd prepare the salad and keep it in the refrigerator. Next, he would take a shower, and then change into gray slacks, loafers, and the midnight blue Oxford shirt she said brought out his eyes. The lasagna would still have twenty minutes or so to bake, giving him enough time to set the table, open the bottle of wine, and light the candles. And Sara would be walking in the door as he placed the food on the table.

Grissom smiled to himself as he finished chopping the carrots. He wanted tonight to special for Sara. He wanted her to have a good birthday. He wanted—

His cell phone rang loudly from its place on the table next to the door.

He wanted to throw the piece of technology out the window.

Sighing, Grissom went to answer the offending piece. He always said 'assume nothing,' so maybe it wasn't the lab. Maybe it was Sara. But one look at the caller ID had him groaning internally.

"Grissom." The irritation in his tone was evident.

"Hello to you too," came Brass' voice. "You don't have to guess why I'm calling, and no, it's not to invite you over to watch the Cubs on my new HD TV. We've got another body at Las Vegas Ranch with lots of your little friends."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Grissom closed his eyes. Not tonight; of all nights to be called in, why now? "Jim, I can't…I have plans."

"Gil, staying at home and watching the Discovery Channel with caramel covered beetles does not qualify as plans."

"It's not…I'm…" Grissom's jaw tightened. He and Sara decided early on to keep their relationship a secret, so the truth wasn't an option. But he couldn't think of a more viable reason.

He heard Brass let out a deep breath. "The victim is the friend of a friend of the nephew of the brother of the mayor, or something like that. The mayor's asking for you." Brass paused. "Actually he's demanding you."

The muscles in Grissom's jaw tightened even more. Harshly, he replied, "Fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Don't sound too excited," Brass said before disconnecting.

Grissom snapped the phone shut, and started to count to ten; his pulse rate had reached at least eighty. Once he calmed down, he opened the phone again. He should have told Brass twenty-five minutes. Sara warranted a call, and not some scrawled note.

She didn't sound _too_ upset, but then again she was out with Nick and Greg. It wasn't possible for her to ream him. But she had told him to come over when he finished. There was hope.

After they said goodbye, he shook his head at the food on the counter. With a determined expression, he cleaned up. It was still possible to salvage the evening.

-----------------------------------------

Then again, maybe not.

When the insect collection was completed, the mayor demanded the timeline right away. That left Grissom dealing with both McKeen and Ecklie at the lab. He managed to fend off the two, and lock himself in his office.

Finally, just ten minutes shy of eleven, Grissom stalked out of the lab. But not before telling Judy, short of the sky falling, he did not want to be paged for any reason whatsoever.

He rushed to Sara's apartment without calling. As he took the stairs two at a time, he wondered if she would still let him in. This was Vegas, so if need be, even at this hour, he could find flowers or a puppy to enhance his efforts.

Standing at her door, Grissom caught his breath. He brushed a hand through his hair, and bracing himself, knocked.

She opened the door wearing Tigger pajama pants and a black tank top. Her small smile was encouraging.

"I am so sorry," he said for what had to be the hundredth time. "I came as soon as I finished."

The grin broadened. "It's really not a problem."

His shoulders slumped in relief while he walked in. "I got held up at the lab. The mayor wanted the time of death right away, and Ecklie was breathing down my neck every five minutes." He looked at the kitchen. "And now it's too late for dinner," he sighed.

"It's fine. I actually ordered a pizza a little while ago."

Now he noticed she had backed away with her nose crinkled and mouth scrunched up. Perhaps she was more upset than he thought. When he stepped forward to offer a hug, she stepped back again.

"Honey, I-I'm sorry…I tried to get out of it." Sara walked backwards as he moved closer.

"Gil, stop worrying. I told you it's fine."

But it wasn't. Why wouldn't she let him touch her? "I tried telling Brass--"

"No, it's not that." Keeping more than an arm's length between them, she stopped and stated, "Baby, you stink."

Was it really necessary to resort to name calling? Granted, he hadn't been the best boyfriend, but didn't he deserve _some_ credit for trying?

"W-What?" he stuttered.

"You reek," she told him, covering her nose. "Where the heck was that body?"

He sniffed himself. Oh yeah, she was right. "At a cattle ranch. The victim was found near a manure pile."

"Then you did have a shitty night." She pointed to the bathroom. "Go. Shower. The pizza should be here when you get out."

"I'm--"

"I know, sorry," she interrupted. Her face turned had pale. "Go. Now." Sara's eyes began to water. "Please."

He picked up the small duffle bag he had left in the hallway earlier, and chuckled. She was kicking him out, but at least it wasn't through the front door.

-----------------------------------------------------

After his shower, Grissom changed into the cotton t-shirt and navy blue silk lounge pants Sara had gotten him for his birthday. Personally, he didn't care for the pants because they made his stomach seem rounder and his gait more obvious. But for whatever reason, she loved seeing him wear them.

The smell of what he was sure was the vegetable special from Anthony's wafted from the living room. He walked in to see her piling blankets and pillows on the couch. Apparently they were not eating at the table.

She looked up, and grinned at his apparel. "Happy birthday to me." She took a few steps to kiss him. When they broke apart, she happily noted his improved odor, "Much better."

They sat on the couch together where she handed him a plate with a slice of pizza. Once he settled his back against the arm of the furniture, she cuddled up to his chest.

She had just started on her second slice when she noticed he hadn't eaten anything. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

He shook his head, and took a deep breath. "Sara, I'm sorry I had to go. I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your birthday."

Putting her plate on the floor, she turned to face him. "Are you kidding me? This…" she waved around them, "…is perfectly fine. I've got large pizza, two bottles of root beer, _High Road to China_ will be on in ten minutes, and you're here." Her right hand found his cheek where her thumb stroked the skin. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

His lips twitched. "I know, but when I get called out--"

"Is not your fault," she finished. "You're the supervisor, so you're the first to get paged. You're also the lab's resident bug expert, so they want you at scenes with the creepy crawlers." At his pursed lips, Sara smirked. "I'm not going to be mad at you for having to leave. Mad at Ecklie and the mayor, yes. And the idiot who decided to commit the crime. But not you." She shrugged. "There will be some things that have to be postponed, but it'll be okay." Then she shyly added, "You can still call and come over when you're done."

Grissom was floored by her words. Never before had a woman shown such infinite patience with his schedule, and Sara had already waited ten years for him. In previous years, he couldn't make it past the third date, if there was one. Women had gotten fed up fairly quickly with dates cut short.

Not able to come up with a proper verbal response, Grissom answered the best way he think of. He took Sara's face between his hands and brought her lips to his for a long, deep kiss. After all, it was least she deserved. He tried to convey how grateful he was with the soft slide of lips.

When she began to make pleading noises for air, he finally let go, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm glad to see you're over it," she giggled.

He pecked her nose. "Thank you."

"You know, there's still enough time before the movie for a piece of cake," she said offhandedly.

"I'll get you some then."

He went into the kitchen and opened the bag he hid under the sink to retrieve one of the most important items he had brought. Then he went about cutting the cake.

Grissom came back with one arm out carrying a plate and the other behind him. Sara's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He brought the arm from around his back in front of her to reveal a piece of cake with one lit birthday candle in the middle of it. He decided the small box of red striped candles was the best purchase he had made at the store as her brown eyes stared at him with such joy.

"Happy Birthday, Sara."

* * *

"What's the case?" Sara asked as he hung up the phone. 

"Three bodies found in a field near Henderson. Dayshift needs the help." Grissom got out of his chair.

"Alright. I promise your Reuben will be there when you get home," she teased.

"What about--"

"The car? Take it, and I'll call a cab."

No resentment, no disappointment; just plain acceptance. Sara truly was a patient woman. No wonder he promised the rest of his life to her.

He bent to give her a peck on the lips. "I owe you."

She nodded. "Yes, you do." She kissed him again. "Be careful. I love you."

"I love you, too." As he walked away, he heard her say, "Since you'll be near Henderson, you can stop at Graeter's on the way home, and pick up some ice cream. Chocolate chip cookie dough."

Smirking, he didn't turn around. "Yes, dear."

-------------------------------------------

_A/N: Graeter's is a real ice cream place in Cincinnati; every time my family visits Ohio, we must make a trip there. One of the shops magically transported to Nevada. Funny how those things happen._


	5. Chapter 5

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 5_

_A/N: I am so, so, so sorry for taking so long to update! I have a second job, and it takes up a bit of my free time. But I will try harder to update sooner! Thank you all for sticking with me and for all the wonderful, sweet reviews. I appreciate all of them :)_

_EllipsesBandit is the best, y'all. Seriously. Even though she doesn't watch the show all that often, she was able to point out something in one of my drafts that was out of character. She is just plain awesome. And the ever so sweet Mingsmommy pointed out the same thing. Thank you ladies for your time and help :)_

* * *

"Did they finish booking Dan Hallner?" Catherine asked as she poured herself another cup of coffee. 

"Yeah," Sara replied. "He kept trying to tell Brass that what happened was a _minor altercation_ with his wife."

Catherine shook her head in disgust, and joined the brunette at the break room table. "Only a man of his class would call beating his wife a 'minor altercation.'"

Earlier in the night, Sara, Catherine, and Brass had been sent out for a domestic disturbance case. Two very frightened young boys had placed a 911 call saying their mother was being hurt. The house appeared still when the three arrived, but upon entering, they heard yelling from the basement. They came down the stairs in time to see the husband throw his wife into a wall. Brass wasted no time in arresting the man.

"He'll be in jail for a long time," Sara commented. At Catherine's puzzled expression, she clarified, "The wife is pressing charges. They're taking her and her kids to a shelter as soon as she leaves the hospital."

A moment of silence passed. "How many of these have we had this month?" Catherine asked.

Frowning, Sara answered in a dull voice, "This makes four."

"This job makes you wonder if there are any good men left in the world."

The diamond from Sara's engagement ring caught the light, and she smiled faintly. "There are."

* * *

_November 2005_

_You don't know me, but I know where you live…_

_I am a doctor! Nothing gets in the way of that! Nothing!_

_Eric can't come to the phone right now because he's servicing me sexually._

Sara flipped through more channels before settling on an episode of _Pinky and the Brain_. The great thing about working the nightshift was there was something to watch on T.V. during the day when she couldn't sleep.

The large window in her living room was cracked open, and light breeze made the curtains gently flutter. The faint scent of laundry detergent drifted in from a neighboring laundry room. Settling her face against the plush pillow, Sara tried concentrating on the pair of mice trying to take over the world. She would have liked nothing more than to go back to sleep, but couldn't after her latest nightmare. She buried herself under the blue plaid blanket, trying desperately to warm her clammy skin. The muscles in her shoulders were still tense, and her mind raced. She knew she couldn't relax enough to close her eyes again.

While she missed Grissom, Sara felt relieved that he was at University of Tennessee, giving a seminar. He didn't need to find the baggage she constantly hauled everywhere, and she didn't need to discover what it would be like to spend the day on his couch. She would prefer to stay in his comfy bed than lay on the sofa with its sticky leather and the spring that always dug into her back. She'd made casual suggestions to him about buying new furniture, but he had no interest. Grissom told her it wasn't practical to spend hundreds of dollars on something that wasn't going to get much use; he rarely invited people to his home. Sara pointed out she was there almost every day, and that she'd like to sit on the couch without having to have him there to cushion against the hard armrests. He merely smiled, kissed the top of her head, and changed the subject.

The last time she had a nightmare was before she and Grissom started seeing each other. Sara figured the horrific images were a reaction to his absence and the most recent case the team had been working.

Glancing at the clock, Sara figured he would be out of his lecture by now. But calling him wasn't an option; he'd wonder why she was awake in the middle of the afternoon. She took a deep breath, willing her mind to relax.

Two episodes of _Third Rock from the Sun_, a showing of _The Incredibles_, half of _Toy Story_, and three episodes of _The Simpsons_ later, Sara got ready for work.

----------------------------

Saturday afternoon, Sara lay on the couch, groggy and tired from being awake after more nightmares. But instead of being frustrated with herself, she concentrated on the fact that Grissom was coming home today and she'd see him in a couple of hours.

But it didn't happen that way; Grissom called explaining his flight was delayed and he'd be home later. Unable to see him before shift, Sara left her apartment in a foul mood.

As if that weren't enough, a call came in about two high school students who had disappeared from a party on Friday night. Grissom arrived at the lab just as the investigation started, leaving no time for a moment alone together. Around twelve-thirty Monday morning, the team found the teenagers, who had been kidnapped by a neighbor.

By the time they reached his townhouse, Sara's eyes barely stayed open. She ate half a bowl of cereal before dragging herself to the shower. While her muscles were sore and achy, her mind couldn't stop playing the images of the two girls bound and gagged in a shed. They'd been found alive, but suffered a lot of trauma before the officers reached them.

Sara padded into the bedroom, finding Grissom under the covers and already asleep. Not that she could blame him. Between traveling and immediately diving back into work, he was exhausted too. She lightly pressed her back to his chest, absorbing comfort from his warmth. The last few hours kept running through head as she descended into an uneasy sleep.

_The darkness is an all-consuming black. She can't see anything around her, but she is not alone in this place-there is another person. The advancing sound of steel-toed boots approaching her. The solid edge of a gun brushes her hand, but every time she reaches for the weapon, it isn't there. Inconceivably cold cement stings her skin. She reaches again. Still not there-the breathing is louder. She reaches again. Nothing solid-the boots stop. A heavy fist comes across her face-the pain explodes behind her eyes. The fist hits her over and over. She tastes the bitter copper of her own blood. Now the boot meets her ribs. The sickening pop of bones cracking reaches her ears. More blows keep coming. Just as she thinks she can take no more, a leathery, gloved finger touches her throat. The hand squeezes ruthlessly. She desperately fights for breath…_

Sara yelled when a hand brushed against her arm; her eyes opened, frantically searching her surroundings. She pushed herself out of the bed on shaking limbs. The cold sweat trickling down her spine made her shiver. When her eyes adjusted, she noticed Grissom still lying in bed.

"Sara?" he asked sleepily, propping himself on an elbow. "Are you all right?"

Leaning against the wall, she tried to calm her pounding heart. "I-I'm fine…I-I just couldn't…I'm okay." With that, she walked toward the door.

Now he sat up completely. "Where are you going?" She saw his face scrunched up in confusion from the purple glow that peeked through the drawn curtains

"Just-just out to the living-" she quickly corrected herself, "-kitchen." She took a deep breath. "Go back to sleep."

As Sara opened the door, he persisted again. "Wait, what happened?" He paused before softly asking, "Was it a nightmare?"

She stepped in the threshold and gripped the frame. Biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut at still feeling the fear course through her veins. "Uh, no…I-uh, I couldn't…I had trouble falling asleep…I'm-uh, just going…to read." She had little success in making her voice sound strong; the words cracked and wobbled.

"Honey," he said gently. "Would you come back to bed please?"

A few hot tears slipped down her cheek. The only thing she hated more than the actual nightmare was the reactions of people she knew.

After being removed from her home and placed in foster care, the nightmares plagued her constantly. Sara'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Her foster siblings would stay away from her during the day, whispering and staring whenever she was around. One girl even went so far as to say, "You think you can make it through the night?" Instead of dealing with the sighs and groans after her bad dreams, Sara would retreat to the living room couch. The furniture had lumpy cushions and fabric that irritated her skin, but at least she wouldn't be disturbing anyone.

By college, the nightmares had become less frequent, but the cold indifference was replaced with smothering kindness. Her roommates, Stacy and Sam, would insist that she talk about the nightmares. They'd hug her and bake cookies. At one point they even bought her a night light and left a long list of telephone numbers to reach them if one or both were gone. It turned out the couches in the dorm common room felt like lying on a slightly padded wooden board -- probably purchased to keep the students from falling asleep while studying.

The men in her life had done no better. Some would react as her college roommates, while others would try to be caring, but did not have a clue as to what she wanted. Sara remembered Hank asking if she was fine; he even offered to talk. But he seemed almost relieved when she still disappeared to the living room. She didn't have to revisit any horrific images; the middle cushion sank so low, she felt the bar on her hip. That was enough to keep her up for the rest of the day.

So throughout the years, Sara developed a pattern of finding the nearest couch. It was just easier than having to deal with blank faces, overwhelming niceness, or snide comments.

"Sara…please," Grissom tried again.

She quickly swallowed a sob, and shook her head. "No, I-uh…I-I'm…"She took a deep breath. "I'm fine." Before all of her strength disappeared, she walked out and closed the door.

She pulled out a fleece blanket and a pillow from the linen closet. On the sofa, she lay with her back to the living room and knees drawn to her chest. She angrily wiped away the wetness on her cheeks, berating herself for once again falling victim to nightmares.

When the blanket was pulled back, the muscles in Sara's back stiffened. The cushions dipped with the addition of Grissom's body.

"Gil…I'm okay," she told him, her tone still somewhat shaky.

He didn't say anything as his hands carefully glided up and down her back. After several minutes, she tentatively stretched her legs and her shoulders loosened.

Grissom stopped his movements, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, "Its okay, Sara."

She'd heard that many times before, always followed up with, "Do you want to talk about it?" or "Tell me what happened. You'll feel better afterward." She continued to tremble, not knowing how to respond. But all he did was repeat his words; no questions. She turned around and buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. The tears started again, but not because she was scared or upset. It was a tremendous relief to find someone who wasn't interested in opening her baggage or throwing it out, but someone who simply picked it up for her with no complaints.

After what felt like hours, Sara finally rested with her ear to his chest, concentrating on his steady heartbeat.

The silence of the room was broken when Grissom quietly said, "You know, this means I don't have to get rid of my couch."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"You're always telling me it's too small and that I need a throw pillow because the arm rest is too hard, and yet it's the first place you went to." He pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled. "You could've have easily gone to the recliner or the sofa in the office, but you chose the couch." His voice became light. "I now have sufficient evidence to keep it."

She huffed. "You can't argue that. I was under emotional…" she searched for the right word, "stress." Then she reluctantly admitted," I wasn't thinking clearly."

"But under those circumstances, most people would go somewhere comfortable." She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was smirking. "You chose here."

"I am not most people. It was a panicked decision."

He kissed the top of her head. "And yet you went to the couch."

Sara gave a light jab to his midsection before snuggling closer. Grissom moved down to bring himself to her eyelevel. She reluctantly opened her lids and found his blue eyes full of concern and acceptance.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She gave a self-deprecatory chuckle. "As okay as I can be."

"Are you going to spend the rest of the night out here?" There wasn't any anger or disappointment; just a simply stated question.

She hesitated for a moment, and then answered yes in a small voice.

"Do you want anything?" he kindly offered. "Uh…tea, maybe? Or a glass of water?" He paused. "Blankets?" An extra pillow?"

Smiling genuinely for the first time in days, Sara ran a hand down his soft whiskers. "No. I'm fine."

Grissom nodded. "Can I stay out here with you?" His quiet tone was full of hope.

"I'll-uh…I'm probably just going to watch T.V. or read. You can go back to bed."

He shrugged. "That's fine, but if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

Her smile broadened. Being a good scientist, Grissom was trying to figure out how she recovered and if he fit in with that plan. If she told him to stay, he would. But if she didn't want him there, she knew he would respect her wishes and go back to the bedroom.

But in thinking like Grissom, Sara knew that better results sometimes occurred if the variables were changed.

Grateful for his offer, she leaned forward and lightly brushed their lips together. "Yeah, you can stay."

After grabbing the remote, the two repositioned themselves, with Grissom on his back, and Sara lying between himself and the back of the couch, her head on his shoulder. Soon, the voices of Andy Travis and Herb Tarlek filled the living room.

Sara felt the leather stick to the small of his back where her tank top had ridden up and a spring poked her leg. Also, the cushions had shifted, and a spring was digging into her hip.

And she was perfectly comfortable.

Sighing, she decided the couch could stay.

* * *

In the months that followed, Sara discovered old habits were hard to break as she still went to the couch after nightmares. But Grissom always followed. He'd lay with her, listening to music or reading the latest forensic journal or watching the two hour block of _Black Adder_. 

One afternoon she'd come to his townhouse to find furniture movers leaving. He wouldn't let her enter the living room, and stuttered his way through telling her he had bought her a present. Inside, she found a brand new couch: dark brown, microfiber, with a couple of pillows and a folded blanket over the back of it. She hugged him so hard, he had to remind her he needed air.

Catherine sighed. "You ready to go over the stuff we collected from the house?"

"I'll be with you in a minute," Sara said. "There's something I need to take care of."

Sara walked out of the break room and made her way down the hall. Leaning in the doorway, she watched Grissom pin insects to a bulletin board in his office. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn't notice her until a few minutes later.

He stopped and looked over his glasses. "I'm not quite finished, but it looks like the victim has been dead for about ten days. The maggots probably got in through the seven inch stab wound on the victim's left side. When Robbins examined the wound, blowflies poured onto the autopsy table, crawling everywhere. I thought Al was going to have a heart attack. Did you…" He stopped, apparently noting her soft expression. "What?"

She came in, making sure to close the door. She was about to break their rule of keeping their marriage separate from work, and realized they didn't need an audience. Stopping in front of him, Sara wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, and held him for a moment.

When she pulled back, Grissom raised both of his eyebrows. "What was that for?"

Placing her hands on either side of his face, she kissed his forehead. "You're a good husband," she told him.

"Oh." His lips twitched in surprise. "Thank you."

She smirked, and turned to the door. His voice, however, stopped her.

"Sara?"

She looked back. "Yeah?"

"On your way home, can you pick up my suits at the dry cleaner?"

"I'm not heading in that direction after shift. I'm going to the post office and then to the grocery store. Can't you go when you finish?"

"I can't go because I need to finish this timeline and afterward I need to review my notes for court tomorrow. I don't know when I'll be done." He cocked his head to the side. "Please?"

After staring at each other, she relented when he gave her an adorable half smile. "All right. I'll get 'em."

"Thank you. And could you also mail this?" He picked up a large manilla envelope from his desk, and handed it to her. "It's part of a manuscript I'm reviewing for an old colleague."

Now she had to stop by the bank to get some cash to pay for the shipping.

A good husband indeed.

TBC

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_This is tough, but cookies to anyone who can name the television shows that were quoted at the beginning? If you can, it just means you watch too much T.V. ...like me ;)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 6_

_Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait. The muse has been finicky lately, and it took me a little while to crank out this chapter. Thank you so, so much for sticking me. And thank you for all the great reviews; you guys are too good to me :)_

_A special nod goes to Addicted2TVDramas and xoxoPAUxoxo for getting two out the three TV quotes from last chapter. The quotes came from (in order) King of the Hill, ER, and Wonderfalls. Good job you two!_

_And no chapter would be ready without the help of the most awesomely wonderful betas, EllipsesBandit and Mingsmommy. I thank you both for your time and input._

* * *

"Tina-Tina…I'm sorry…I…I have to work late…Of course I want to meet your mom and your sister….Yes, I know they're only here for a few days….But--but…I didn't plan on staying, but we have some new…Sweetie, I'm sorry…" 

Grissom walked into the layout room to find Warrick with his back toward him. The taller man had his cell phone pressed to his ear, and made short gestures with his other hand. Warrick kept trying to speak, but the person on the other end kept interrupting him. After another minute of silence on Warrick's part, he finally growled into the phone, "Maybe if you were a little more understanding about my job, I wouldn't have to explain myself every damn time!"

He hung up the phone and let out a harsh curse. When Grissom asked, "Is everything okay?" Warrick spun around in surprise.

"Yeah," the younger C.S.I replied. "I was just…talking to my wife."

"Ah, 'talking,'" Grissom commented. "The universal male code for 'arguing.'"

Warrick smirked and shook his head. "Yeeaaah," he drawled. He sighed. "I don't know. It seems like every time we talk, Tina and I fight."

The entomologist held one finger up. "Communication is the key."

"Is that the secret of the success with you and Sara?"

Grissom smiled faintly. "No relationship is perfect."

* * *

_October 2005_

It all started with a toothbrush.

One of those Colgate spin brushes: purple handle and the bristles hardly looked worn, meaning Sara had replaced the head recently. And there it was; standing out against the white marble counter.

Grissom hadn't noticed the toothbrush until he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready to trim his beard. He turned the electric razor on, and happened to glance down for a moment. The purple toothbrush lay on its side near the black cup that held his. The razor buzzed in his right hand as he continued to stare at the object. What was it doing here? Sara hadn't been able to come home with him since she had to get ready for court, so she had to have left it the previous night before she went to work.

But she was so good about making sure she had all of her belongings with her. Why was it still here?

Over the past three months Sara had spent most of her days at his townhouse, and Grissom surprisingly found himself comfortable with her there. In the beginning, they'd agreed to take things slowly so whenever Sara came over, she'd bring a change of clothes and some of her toiletries.

He had noticed the times when she would refrain from groaning or when she rolled her eyes on the mornings he wanted her to come home with him, and she'd have to drive to her apartment first to retrieve her bag. But surely she knew how important it was to not to rush into commitment and jeopardize their relationship?

Shaking his head, Grissom decided he was jumping to conclusions. Most likely, she just forgot the toothbrush. Nothing more. It was bound to happen at some point.

Though, it took him an extra five minutes to trim his beard because his gaze kept drifting to the counter.

---------------------------

Next was the t-shirt.

Chocolate brown, short sleeved, and v-neck; Grissom hadn't even noticed it until he began folding some laundry. He'd started pulling clothes from the dryer when he found Sara's shirt. He knew right away because it was smaller than the other clothes.

_A fluke_, he immediately told himself. He normally grabbed piles of clothes from the bedroom and bathroom floor to throw in the hamper. And he didn't pay too much attention when he separated colors to go in the washing machine. The brown shirt had probably gotten mixed in with his clothes.

Grissom pushed the thoughts of Sara becoming more and more comfortable in his house out of his head. She obviously had no problem leaving her clothes there because she wore the shirt three days ago and hadn't been over looking for it.

Yes. She just forgot the shirt.

-------------------------------

A few days later he opened the hall closet and nearly jumped out of his skin. A pea coat hung in the closet that was certainly not his; black, wool, and a belt that came just above the waist. Any time she wore a coat or a jacket, Sara usually placed it on a chair at the breakfast bar along with her purse. But he'd also noticed the army green purse sitting on the end table next to the front door.

He glanced over in the direction of the living room where Sara lay stretched out on his couch, reading _The Devil Wears Prada_, unaware of the fact that he'd spent five minutes staring at the closet. Going over the last two weeks, Grissom determined they had spent three days apart and the nine of the eleven days, they had spent together were at his townhouse.

Grissom believed it was difficult to make a conclusion from one piece of evidence. So when he had three occasions of finding Sara's things, it was obvious she wanted their relationship to become a little more serious.

While he loved spending time with her, he knew it was important for them to have separate lives. They couldn't spend every waking moment together; it wasn't healthy.

She'd understand that.

--------------------------------

Sara didn't mind when he turned her down for a few breakfasts the following week. He truly had paperwork he needed to catch up on and a book from a colleague he was asked to look over. But he was grateful for some space.

Five days later, she invited him over for breakfast, and he planned on discussing the situation. However, Sara prevented him from doing so when she said she had a surprise.

She led him to the bedroom where is eyes widened in disbelief and shock. His pulse had climbed higher than one-hundred and he tried very hard to control his breathing.

She gave him a drawer. A drawer in her dresser. A drawer in her dresser in her apartment. And not only that; he'd also gotten a key!

While blood rushed to his ears, she explained the drawer was something she thought he'd like to have after what he said after the Linder trial. Because his thoughts were moving so fast, he had trouble thinking of that day from three weeks ago.

He remembered collapsing onto his couch the morning after spending the previous afternoon being hammered with questions from the defense attorneys and afterward being immediately called into a case. There had been a knock at the door, and he reluctantly got up and answered it. Sara had shown up with fresh bagels, his favorite blueberry cream cheese, and two large cups of orange juice. After he ate some food, he vented about his day, and she offered her support by simply listening.

Once they had eaten, they cuddled under the cool sheets of his bed. Her forehead rested in the crook of his neck, and her arm lay across his torso. Sighing contently, he drew her closer.

"Better?" she teased.

He hummed in agreement. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being here." He kissed the top of her head, and rubbed his hand down her back. "I like having you here," he murmured.

She nuzzled her face into his neck before snuggling deeper in his arms. "I think you just like it when I bring you breakfast," she said, her voice sleepy and playful.

"Especially when you don't cook it." His mouth got ahead of his brain so he didn't think that one through; he felt her foot nudge his calf. A comfortable silence encompassed the darkened room, and then he whispered warmly, "I like you being here. You're always welcome to bring me breakfast."

That had to be what she referred to; he was certain. His compliments were meant to be compliments-not an invitation to always be together. But she must have interpreted his words like that. Now she'd dropped subtle hints-the toothbrush in his bathroom, her shirt in his laundry, the coat in his closet. Since he hadn't brought up her being able to leave things at his townhouse, he now figured she'd taken the matter more seriously. By giving him a drawer and a key, Sara was trying to show him explicitly that she should get a drawer in his room and a key for his house. From there, it would only escalate to a shelf in the bathroom cabinet, to closet status, to her actually moving in. All of this before they were ready to make those kind of steps.

Grissom had to explain this. He had to.

-------------------------------

"_Maybe one of them snored or had insomnia or liked to work at night."_

"_Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe."_

He hadn't meant for it to come out at the crime scene, but unfortunately some part of Grissom wanted her to know there were bigger possibilities than bad sleeping habits. And he chose to draw from real life experience.

Judging from her surprised frown, Sara had also known he wasn't just referring to the couple. When they returned to the lab, she had kept her distance for the rest of shift. In fact, he hadn't seen her until he heard a soft knock.

He looked up to find her smiling tentatively at him. His lips twitched as a way of welcoming her into his office, and she came in, closing the door.

"Looks like the wife wrote the letter," Sara announced as she handed him the file. "She found out about the husband's…habit and wanted something for it."

Grissom merely nodded, and opened the folder, reading about the new evidence. He got through about two paragraphs before he glanced up to realize Sara was still in front of his desk.

She regarded him with a careful expression. "Are you okay?"

Shrugging, he answered, "I'm fine."

"It's just…back at the house." She paused. "You said something about being suffocated…and it just seemed like…" She trailed off, waiting for him to fill in any blanks.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I was talking about the case."

"So there's nothing else…that's bothering you?"

He shook his head.

A few moments of somewhat tense silence passed before she quietly asked, "Did you want to grab some breakfast after shift?"

"I have a meeting with Ecklie and the D.A this morning."

"How about dinner tonight?"

His sigh came out louder and more frustrated than he meant for it to. "I'm scheduled to talk to the head of the biology department at UNLV for a possible seminar."

Sara nodded in acceptance. Then she suggested, "Do you have any free time on Saturday? We could just stay home and watch some movies. I could get some popcorn and ice cream and you--"

_Stay at home?_ _I could bring over?_ Since when did his home become _their_ home? It was time for this to end.

"Sara," he firmly cut her off. Removing his glasses, Grissom took a breath to regain his composure. "It's my house."

Her forehead wrinkled. "I know that."

"You said 'we could just stay at home,' and then you offered to get popcorn."

"Oh…well, uh…" She seemed surprised by his statement. "I'm sorry. I just meant your place. We spend most of our time there so I just assumed."

"That's just it. Sara…" He trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out his next words. Grissom didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he couldn't avoid the subject any longer. "You can't have a drawer," he finally blurted.

"Okay," she drawled, her voice confused. "When did I ever say I wanted a drawer?"

Fiddling with his glasses, he responded with, "Nothing directly, but you…you…you left your toothbrush in my bathroom, and your shirt was in my laundry."

"I forgot those."

"But you never came looking for them."

"Because I knew I'd be back at your house within the next couple of nights," she shot back. Her tone was becoming defensive and somewhat angry.

Sighing harshly, Grissom said, "You hung your coat in my closet. You didn't even ask."

"Unbelievable," Sara muttered. She stared at the ground as she shook her head with her mouth slightly open. When she looked up, her mouth was in a firm, tight line. "So from a toothbrush in your bathroom, my shirt in your wash, and my coat in your closet, _without your permission_, you thought I wanted a drawer at your house."

"You gave me a drawer at your apartment."

"So?"

"So? Sara, don't you think that's passive-aggressive behavior?" The sharpness in his voice quickly gained intensity. "I don't get your hints, so you give me a drawer at your place in hopes that I'll give you one at mine."

"No!" she immediately spit out. "I…I can't believe you think I'd do something like that! I gave you that drawer because I thought it'd be more convenient for you."

"When have I said our arrangement wasn't convenient for me?" he snarled. Never before had he asked for her to make any sort of changes. He was comfortable and content with the progress of their relationship. So why did she want to change it all of a sudden? Especially on his end. It seemed as if she were trying to rearrange his neat and orderly life.

Grissom answered for her a moment later, "Never. So I wouldn't _need _a drawer. I didn't even ask you for one." He huffed. "I don't think you get what I want."

"Obviously not," she snapped. "Why don't you explain it to me?" The words were heavily coated with sarcasm and venom.

His hand fell to the desk with a dull thud. "_Fine._ I don't want to give you a drawer at _my_ townhouse. I don't want to see you every day." His voice had risen, but not enough to attract the attention of people outside the office. "And I don't want to move in with you!"

The only sound in the room was Sara's carefully controlled breathing. She had looked away from him, and when her gaze returned to his face, he saw her eyes shining and for the briefest of moments, the anger had been replaced with raw pain.

She didn't let her guard down for long as Grissom could tell by the stiffening of her body. "Fine," she murmured before turning around, and rapidly exiting the office.

After she left, he closed his eyes and began to rub his temples in an attempt to ward off the oncoming migraine. The argument replayed over and over in his head, and he could see the way her face fell after his last statement; it made him feel nauseous. He knew what he said had been out of line and hurtful, but figured it would be better to wait to apologize after they both cooled down.

An hour later he tried calling her, but she didn't answer her cell phone or her landline. After six attempts, he finally left her a message on the voicemail at her house.

"Sara…it's me, it's Gil. H-Honey, are you there? I'd like to talk to you, please. What I said earlier…I didn't mean…that was…it wasn't right. I want to apologize to you. Can you call me back? On my cell or the house line is fine. I just…I want to talk to you. Please call me back."

But Sara never called, and for the first time in months, Grissom had a fitful afternoon of sleep. During the next shift, he hoped to invite her out to breakfast to talk, but she spent most of the evening at a scene. When she returned, she'd only talk to him about the case, giving short and curt responses before disappearing to another part of the lab.

The second day he had received a new forensic journal, and wanted to share an interesting article with Sara, but then remembered it was just him sitting on the couch. On the fourth day, he'd made himself some waffles, only to discover it was a double batch. At the lab, she refused to talk to him about anything unless it had to with the latest case. By the sixth day, he awoke in the middle of the bed, having not been pushed to the edge; Sara would typically be plastered against his back, her cheek soft and warm on his bare shoulder, when he would be perilously close to falling off the mattress.

That morning, Grissom stood outside her apartment, clutching a plastic container while staring at the green door. His fist was raised to knock, but his arm wouldn't complete the action. What if she wouldn't accept his apology? What if she didn't want him to come over any more? What if she didn't want to see him at all? All of the doubts made him stand with his feet glued to the floor for the last ten minutes.

But he couldn't walk away on predictions with no definitive results. Tentatively, he rapped the wood lightly.

Sara's eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore grey sweatpants with an oversized crimson Harvard t-shirt.

"Hi," he quietly greeted.

"Hi."

"I-uh…I wanted to talk to you. May I come in?"

She stepped aside, her expression still impassive. He stood near the kitchen counter while she had taken a several steps away from him, leaving a somewhat big distance between them.

The uncomfortable silence was cut when Sara asked, "What's that?" referring to the container he had been holding.

He gestured toward her before setting the plastic on the counter. "It's a, uh cheesecake. Homemade." A deep breath. "For you. It's uh, uh chocolate swirl. I brought a cherry topping too." Flowers didn't seem like enough, and jewelry was way too conventional, so her favorite dessert seemed like the choice to give her along with his apology.

Her brown eyes revealed the hurt and sadness she had felt over the past few days, and it made his chest ache.

"Sara, I am so sorry," he began, his voice sincere. "What I said to you…I'd wanted to talk to you for a while, but I-I didn't know how." He stared at the floor before looking up again. "And then when you came to my office, I was…frustrated with the situation, and I blew up. And I shouldn't have."

With her arms crossed over her chest, she shrugged. "I think I know what you wanted to talk about." The she hesitantly said, "But I think…I…we…should discuss it now."

"Yes," he nodded. He gestured a hand between them, but no words came out of his open mouth. Once again, no sound accompanied the movement of his lips. He eventually took a deep breath, and reluctantly plunged ahead.

"I've lived alone for over thirty years and up until a few months ago no one has been over on a regular basis."

"What about Catherine?"

He smirked slightly. "Only if you count once, maybe twice a month and she hasn't been beyond the living room." Licking his lips, he continued, "But you…you're the only person who knows my house almost as well as I do." He told her earnestly, "I like having you over…I just…I don't know…I'm not used to sharing my space. Especially this frequent.

"Then I found your stuff, and I thought…I thought about how much time we were spending together and that you wanted to start leaving your things there. I thought it would only be a short time until you wanted to move in." Grissom sucked in some air. "I felt…I felt…crowded," he admitted. "It's something that we-I'm not ready for."

Sara's arms loosened and fell to her side. "Gil, if I wanted something more serious I'd talk to you about it. I wouldn't stake territory in your personal space without your permission," she gently said.

"I-I know that now. But after all of that came the drawer…"

Sighing, she looked away as if stop herself from rolling her eyes. "You still don't understand why I gave it to you." When he shook his head, a small smile appeared. "After the Linder trial, you complained about having drive back to your townhouse to change before going to the lab because the lab is a straight shot from the courthouse, and your house is in the opposite direction. Since my apartment is three blocks from the courthouse in the direction of the lab, I just thought you could leave some clothes here. I know you sometimes forget to leave clothes in your office. You could come over and change on those times you get called in on a case after a trial."

Grissom had never felt so dense in his entire life. He previously thought he had solid evidence to support his hypothesis of Sara wanting in his home, when really they were just three isolated incidences. And what he believed to be his biggest piece of evidence was just a kind gesture; her simply looking out for him.

He couldn't take their separation any longer and moved forward. They now stood with in inches of each other. "I am sorry Sara. I'm…I'm…I'm a jerk."

She didn't hesitate; not even for a second. "Yes, you are." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she deadpanned, "But you're the jerk of my dreams."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he pulled into a tight embrace. The queasy feeling that had settled into his stomach for the past six days dissipated. He buried his nose in her hair, and inhaled the citrus aroma of her shampoo. The woman had a tremendous amount of endurance to put up with his behavior. He just had to make sure never to push her to the limit.

"I'm sorry, too," she said against the side of his neck. "I shouldn't have avoided you."

He pulled back, and lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips met in a kiss, and he couldn't hold back his contented hum. Her mouth was a warm combination of cinnamon and vanilla, a taste he had sorely missed.

By his calculations, they had missed out on many, many kisses from the past six days; good morning and good night pecks, those times she peeked in the kitchen to see what he was cooking, the instances where they sat on the couch reading books, and he wanted to distract her. Not to mention the make out sessions that occasionally started when they watched television. They had quite a bit of kisses to catch up on, and there was no time like the present.

They broke apart after several minutes and rested against each other again. Grissom rubbed his beard against her cheek, eliciting a giggle from Sara.

"Well, we made through our first fight," he commented lightly.

Pulling back just enough to look at him, but still keep her arms around his shoulders, she agreed. "We did, and we actually did all right." Her eyes sparkled with humor and bliss.

"You think so?"

"Sure," she happily replied. "It only took us ten years to communicate our feelings to each other, and now it only took us six days. In another couple of years, we might actually be able to talk like real people."

"Maybe we'll be able to develop mental telepathy. Then, we wouldn't have to speak to each other at all."

At least she smiled when she smacked him in the chest.

* * *

Grissom smiled faintly. "No relationship is perfect." He placed the photographs he'd been carrying on the table. "But John Powell said, 'Communication works for those who work at it.'" 

"Make the effort," Warrick translated.

Grissom tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Exactly."

"So when you two argue…"

"We cool down, and then I try to talk to her," the supervisor finished. It wasn't the easiest thing; he still had moments where he didn't want to open up and sometimes she would be stubborn and ignore him. He couldn't say he and Sara never went to bed angry, but they did work through their problems. They made the effort, and their marriage was the better for it. "But I always make sure I stop by the grocery store before I apologize," he added.

"Flowers?"

"No. Sara prefers cheesecake when I screw up."

"Ah," Warrick nodded as if a light bulb went off in his head. "Now I know why Sara wanted to renew her gym membership. She said something about eating too many sweets." He then went to examining the pictures on the table, but had little success in hiding the smirk.

Grissom didn't say anything, simply making a mental note that Warrick would be on decomp duty for the next month.

------------------

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 7_

_A/N: For those of you that are still with me, I am forever grateful. I have been such a slacker for not updating sooner. But I've got a good reason! I just found out that I got into grad school, and I have been trying to get things squared away for that. But I have not forgotten about this story. There is one more chapter after this one, and it WILL get done before I leave. Thank you all so, so much for your patience._

_And of course I can't do anything without my grammar queen and beta extraordinaire, the EllipsesBandit; she is eight kinds of awesomeness. Big props to Mingsmommy for her expertise and helping hand. And a warm hello and thank you to Grand Falloon for offering her help too. Waffle love to y'all, ladies :)_

* * *

The second Sara walked in the house, she leaned against the door, and sighed in relief. She'd suffered through one hellacious week: three consecutive double shifts, a two hour meeting concerning appropriate dress code, and then her department issued Denali had blown a head gasket. Now she had arrived home after another hellacious day. 

As she removed her shoes, Sara heard the unmistakable sound of heavy steps from one of her favorite guys. Trigger, their boxer, bounded in from the direction of the living room, to greet her. The dog's tail seemed to move his whole body as he sat, excited to get attention from one of his owners. She laughed while Trigger snuffled and licked her palm. When he finally calmed down, the large dog sighed happily as she scratched behind his ears, and stroked his head.

"Closing the door wouldn't be such a hard thing to learn!" she heard Grissom call before the door slid back into place. Trigger had the ability to open the sliding screen door, but not shut it once he was inside or outside.

Her grin widened. "Let's go see what he's up to." Trigger immediately trotted ahead of her to the living room, using his nose to open the door to the backyard again. Sara found Grissom on the deck, standing at the grill with a pair of tongs in his hands. Her eyes softened at the sight of her husband in sandals and an old UCLA t-shirt hanging over his shorts.

Putting the tongs down and closing the grill lid, he turned to face her. "Hey," he greeted cheerfully. "How was your day?"

She stepped out on the deck, ignoring the fact she still wore pantyhose. Sighing, she replied, "I spent two hours waiting before they called me, and another five hours on the stand going over the same three pieces of evidence because the defense attorney was an idiot." She gave a small smile. "On the plus side, this was the best day of the week."

He pulled her into a solid hug and kissed her forehead. "It's a good thing you have a kind boss who gave you the next three days off."

Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For a man who adamantly refused to hug and be hugged by others, Grissom's touch was always gentle and loving. And he never hesitated to be affectionate with her.

After her stress dissipated, she thanked him with a slow kiss. When they broke apart, she smiled brightly.

"So what smells good?" she inquired.

"I just threw some marinated salmon fillets on the grill. I've also got some potatoes and zucchini."

Her eyes lit up at the perspective of her favorite meal. Behind him, the table was set, complete with a green tablecloth underneath silverware, plates and wine glasses. There was even a vase of flowers and a couple of candle sticks.

"What's all this?" she asked, in slight awe.

"I just thought we could eat out here tonight." He shrugged, downplaying his gesture, before returning to the grill. "There are also some brownies in the kitchen," he added.

Even though he was the most emotionally reserved she had ever known, Grissom always told her, in his own way, he loved her.

* * *

_April 2006_

_Homemade waffles; his subtle cinnamon and brown sugar scent; the way his lips glide softly across her collar bone; and his eyes. Those beautiful, aqua eyes._

Sara enumerated over and over the reasons why she agreed to go on this camping trip.

They had argued for two weeks on how to spend their four days off--Grissom wanted to go camping and Sara wanted to go, well, anywhere but camping. He usually went several times a year to photograph insects and other wild life. He would bring along a telescope and an astronomy book to study the stars. Sara, however, wasn't too keen on spending her free days defending herself from being eaten alive by mosquitoes and digging a hole as a makeshift bathroom. She had suggested they find a beach house in California. But he pointed out they had gone to a bed-and-breakfast last time as per her suggestion. He then turned up wide, boyish eyes, promising she would have a great time…

…which is how she found herself in the middle of the woods. Not having a great time. Sara groaned quietly, and rolled to her back, trying to seek a more comfortable position. Lying on the uneven ground had caused a cramp in her left leg. She pulled the sleeping bag more tightly around her. Even with the heavy material of the sleeping bag, flannel pajamas, and thick socks, she was still freezing. Thankfully she could no longer hear the loud chirping of the crickets and the crunching of branches-that had been drowned out by Grissom's snoring. When she felt something crawl across her arm, she quickly flicked off the unknown leggy creature, and pulled her legs closer to her body.

_Those short grey curls she waited the better part of ten years to touch; the sound of his laughter, the way he frowned at the crossword puzzle…_

----------------------------------

Grissom had told her the trail would take about four hours to complete. However, two and a half hours into it, they still weren't even half way through the hike.

"Fire ants belong to the genus _Solenopsis_, and there are 280 species worldwide," he explained. "The sensation of the bite is similar to that of getting burned." The camera snapped several times. "Hence the name."

"You wouldn't know this from experience?" Sara carefully asked.

"Only once, but it was my fault. I was eleven, and my experiment disturbed their colony."

They had veered off the trail several times so he could point out a plant species or try to find certain insects. When he did find the insect he wanted, Grissom's eyes would light up like a child in front of a candy store, and he'd immediately launch into a mini-lecture about it. His grin would be wide as he took photographs for his collection.

"Mountain pine beetles belong to the bark beetle group. They produce a pheromone that attracts other beetles for a mass attack. The tree produces resin, but the beetles carry a blue stain fungus that will block the response. The flow of nutrients and water is cut off, and the tree starves to death."

Instead of being annoyed, Sara found his enthusiastic behavior charming. He just looked so oddly adorable in his straw hat, hiking boots, and cargo pants, chasing down bugs with magnifying glasses and specimen jars. It seemed like the forest was his personal playground.

The only problem was the heat. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the combination of the jeans she wore and the fifty pound backpack she carried, but she felt like she was a saturated sponge. Frustrated, she dropped her backpack on the ground with thud, opened it, and shoved items around, looking for a towel and a water bottle. It didn't help much because her arms and shoulders were damp after wiping them off with the towel. She cursed quietly as she put her bag on her shoulders again.

Grissom looked up at her with a bright smile, and then his eyes fell to his feet. He blushed slightly as if he had done something wrong. He quietly said, "I-I'm sorry. I just wanted to see…" Clearing his throat, he stated, "We can get going."

She stared at him, somewhat puzzled at his sudden change in demeanor.

Once on the path, he stayed silent, keeping his eyes concentrated on what was in front of him. He stopped trying to point out the nature around them. Did he think he had ticked her off by constantly veering off the trail?

When they sat on a large rock to rest, she noticed a black beetle crawling on one of the trees. For some very strange reason, Grissom wasn't interested at it, and she was more convinced that he'd misinterpreted her simply looking through the bag as annoyance with him. The beetle didn't look like the ones in his collection, but then again she had a hard time telling the difference between any of them.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the insect.

He moved closer to her to have a better look, and replied after only a second of thought. "It's a Pinon Ips beetle."

He didn't offer anything else, so she continued. "Are they bark beetles too?"

"Yeah," he tentatively answered. "But they're also engraver beetles because the egg galleries are etched in the tree."

"So they live in the tree?"

"They spend most of their lives under the bark. After the eggs hatch, the larvae feed on the inner bark." Sara stared in his eyes, and noticed the passionate sparkle come back. "After a few weeks, they form a pupal chamber and transform into adults. Then they go to another tree to start a new egg gallery."

"Do they start feeding on new trees?"

"No. Live trees are more resistant to an attack, so the beetles move to dead or weakened trees."

"Are beetles the only insects that attack trees?"

"Forest tent caterpillars can also cause damage, but they tend to favor aspens and oaks. It's sometimes hard to tell if a tree has been destroyed from disease or actual caterpillar damage. I've never been able to find the caterpillar."

Standing up, she moved off the rock. "We'll just use your mountain entomology book to help us. If we follow their evidence, we're bound to find one."

The corners of Grissom's lips slowly tugged into a grin. Now the happy nature guide was back. Taking her offered hand, he rose to his feet. He gently squeezed her fingers. "As you wish, dear."

---------------------------------

Three hours later, they headed back to the campsite with no luck in finding the forest tree caterpillar, but they did find plenty of other insects to satisfy Grissom.

"How did you get interested in insects?" Sara asked, after he finished photographing a spider's web. For almost a year, she had been slowly let into Grissom's life, relishing the details that shaped him. She discovered he loved peanut butter-ate it straight from the jar. He kept a small metal box in his bedroom that contained ticket stubs from every baseball game he'd ever been to. He had an immense movie collection that went beyond specials from the Discovery channel, his favorite being the James Bond films. Yet she didn't know how bugs ended up changing his life.

"I was about six years old, and one of my kindergarten classmates had gotten stung by a yellow jacket." He stopped at a small dip in the trail, stepped down first, and then offered his hand to help Sara. "Allen Westin had a huge welt on his leg; swollen, red, and apparently it itched horribly because he complained for days. I had never seen a yellow jacket, so…"

"You went looking for them," she finished.

"That was part of the reason." He paused for a long moment, and then finally admitted, "I had been stung by a bee before, and only gotten a small red bump. I wanted to see why a yellow jacket's sting would be different."

She laughed. "You didn't go to get yourself purposely stung, did you?"

There was the faint hint of a smirk on his face. "No. I just wanted to see if there was something different between their bodies that would make different sting marks. I found the nest, and waited for hours for the yellow jackets to come out.

"I got impatient at one point, and picked up a large stick to poke the nest." She snorted as he continued. "The yellow jackets came out then, and they were more than ready to defend their home."

The laughter was evident in her voice when she asked, "How many times did you get stung?"

"Twice on the arm. I ran away as fast as I could." Glancing over, Sara saw him grin, but his tome remained even. "I'm sure you can imagine the story I told my parents when I got home."

She couldn't suppress the giggles at the thought of a six year old Gil Grissom telling his mom and dad he was minding his own business when all of a sudden he was attacked by the huge, monster, killer yellow jackets.

"The stings swelled to the size of golf balls, and my mom had to put hydrocortisone on me for a week."

"And this didn't make you hate bugs?"

Shaking his head, Grissom replied, "My dad later explained to me why people react differently to stings. He told me about the toxins bees and yellow jackets used, and how some people's bodies can handle them while others can't. Then he told me there were other insects that had fangs and used other means to defend themselves. I asked so many questions, he took me to school with him, and introduced me to Dr. Vallersen, the biology professor, who was also an expert in entomology."

He smiled warmly at the memory. "Dr. Vallersen taught me which flowers bees are attracted to, how to handle a tarantula…"

"How not to poke yellow jacket nests with large sticks."

She laughed as he tried to pour the water from his canteen on her.

-------------------------------------

"Sara…Sara…C'mon, honey, wake up…You need to see this."

The only thing Sara Sidle wanted to see was the inside of her eye lids. She'd finally found a comfortable sleeping position where her leg didn't fall asleep, where her head didn't lay in a pile of gravel, and where she was securely wrapped in the sleeping bag, protected from the cold and any unwanted visitors.

She opened her eyes to small slits, and found she could see the inside of the tent in a purple and orange glow.

"Gil," she breathed. "What time is it?"

"A little after 5:30."

_5:30?_ Forget it. She didn't plan on functioning until sometime after 7. "Too early," she mumbled, burying herself deeper in the sleeping bag.

She felt his hand lightly shaking her leg. "No, sweetie, you want to see this. It'll be worth your while I promise."

Keeping her eyes closed, she let out a deep breath. "Can't you just bring whatever great thing this is to me?" she whined.

"No," he answered quickly. "I can't bring it out of its habitat. It would disturb the cat--" He stopped, and sighed. "Please, Sara. I promise you can go back to sleep when we're done."

Her mind barely registered "habitat," meaning he wanted her to see some sort of creature. It was probably a smart idea that he didn't bring it into the tent. She opened her eyes again, and saw Grissom staring at her. He wore a grey sweatshirt with his camera around his neck, and had a mild case of bed head. His blue eyes reminded her of a dog; begging, _pleading_ with her to please, please, please come outside.

"Fine," she relented. "I'll come with you…but this better be good."

"Great!" he said enthusiastically, and then quickly moved outside. After a few minutes, he poked his head in the tent again. "You're coming out, right?"

She still lay in the same position. "Yes."

Finally Sara pulled on her jeans and his fleece jacket, and stumbled outside. She yawned several times as she followed him off the campsite's path, and through some trees. He stopped before a large oak. She refrained from groaning in frustration; they were standing in the middle of a large mud puddle.

Grissom searched some of the leaves for a moment, then spoke in an excited whisper. "I was hoping he'd be here when we came back." Carefully, he pointed to one of the leaves. "Look what I found."

There, a green and black caterpillar crawled along, seemingly enjoying the early morning. It took her sleep-addled mind a minute to think of its identity. "A forest tent caterpillar."

He nodded happily. "I got up early, and went for a walk. When I passed by this tree, I happened to find him just sitting here." Bringing the camera to his face, he took a few pictures. "I told you you wanted to see this."

She smiled widely as she listened to him. "Forest tent caterpillars are defoliators. They strip the tree of its leaves as soon as the eggs hatch."

"Do they turn into a butterfly?"

"They change into buff-colored moths, and they don't live for more than a few days."

For such an interesting insect, it was a little disappointing to hear the forest tent caterpillar morphed into a moth. And not even a pretty moth; it was the color of the memos Ecklie sent out to the staff. At least it was fun to watch the caterpillar's body curl slightly as it moved about the leaf.

"It's a good thing he's fairly harmless. I don't have to worry about you trying to get it to bite you," she commented lightly.

He glanced up from his intense study of the insect to mock scowl at her. "You know, I did go back to the yellow jacket's nest a few weeks after I was stung."

Tilting her head, she stared at Grissom in disbelief. "You did not."

"I had asked my dad why they stung me, and he told me the yellow jackets were defending their home; that I had disturbed them. So I decided to go back."

"Why?"

"To apologize to them."

The seriousness of his tone caused Sara to double over, laughing hard. It was a pleasant combination of oddness and sweetness that the man before her had once sat at a yellow jacket nest to apologize for poking their home with a stick. It made perfect sense because he often spoke to the tarantula like it was cat, and cheered his roaches to victory like they were prize–winning greyhounds. After she calmed down, she looked into his eyes and gave him the first response that came to mind.

"I love you."

Her smile immediately vanished as her heart dropped to her stomach. Her declaration hadn't gone unnoticed by Grissom, who stared at her with wide, surprised eyes, his mouth hanging open, and most of the color drained from his face.

That made up for the fact her face was bright red. She could feel the hot burn of embarrassment from her hairline to the top of her shoulders.

"I-I…uh,um…I didn't…uh…"

From the time she met him, she found Grissom to be a pain in the ass. He was closed off; often clueless; never talked about his feelings, but when he did, the meaning was always cryptic; oblivious to the world around him…

But in between her frustrating encounters with him, she'd had rare moments where they'd laugh together and he'd comfort her with words after bad cases and even though he never said anything, his actions told her he cared about her. She'd fallen in love with for over ten years, and was in deep.

But neither had said the actual words to each other. Sara wanted to for so long, but didn't want to push Grissom too far, too fast. Maybe he wasn't ready for that sort of commitment. But if that was true, where was this relationship going?

Sara suspected he felt the same way about her because of the way he was with her. He'd stay up with her after nightmares, even if it meant he only got three hours of sleep; when she would spend the night at his townhouse, he'd always make her a lunch to bring to work; he laughed at all her jokes, including the really bad, not-so-funny ones; and he'd kiss her goodbye in the evenings and tell her to be careful and if they weren't together, he'd phone to relay the same message.

She knew he wasn't a man of many words, but she still wanted to hear him say he loved her.

"I-I wanted to wait…I d-didn't mean to put you on the spot…you-you…"

And of all the times to say it, why now? Here she was, in the middle of the woods, in the chilly dawn hours, staring at some caterpillar, ankle deep in mud, telling Gil Grissom she loved him…talk about romantic settings.

Managing a nervous chuckle, she stuttered, "Okay, I…feel…that way about you." She quickly added, "But it's okay if you don't feel that way about me! I just…I blurted it out, and now you know and you should know, and I hope this doesn't change anything because I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, and--"

Grissom stepped forward and put a finger to her lips, effectively silencing her. Sara tentatively looked into his eyes, afraid of what she might find. Instead of rejection and fear, there was the purest shade of blue she'd ever seen mixed with the softness of his gaze.

Tilting his head to the side, his chest rose and fell quickly and he balled his hands into tight fists. "Sara," he said quietly. "I love you too."

Her breathing rate sped up considerably, and she started to feel a little dizzy. But her heart felt incredibly light and her limbs tingled. Before getting lost in the euphoric feeling, she had to make sure she heard him correctly. "You-you love me?"

He nodded solemnly. "I do."

"Really?"

This time he chuckled as he moved a strand of hair off her cheek. "Yes, I really do."

"Oh…okay then," Sara replied dumbly before grinning like an idiot. Grissom mirrored her expression, and carefully framed her face with his hands. She more felt, than heard him, when he murmured "I love you," before their lips met in a sweet, deep, gentle kiss.

Somewhere in her mind, the minute part that hadn't melted into a pile of saccharine goo, had determined saying "I love you" now wasn't a bad idea. After all, the geek had gotten the bug and the girl.

* * *

"These are beautiful flowers," Sara commented as she fingered the daisies. "When did get these?" 

Grissom placed the vegetables on the grill. "I just got them on the way home from the bank."

Shaking her head, she knew that was a lie; the grocery store and nearest florist was not on the way home from the bank, meaning he went out of his way to buy them.

There was a small white card attached to the vase with her name on it. While his attention was on the food, she opened the card. Inside the message read, _I hope this makes your week better. I love you-G_.

She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into his back. "Thank you…for bringing the daisies home."

He turned in her embrace, and kissed her briefly. "You're welcome," he said. "You know _Chrysanthemum maximum_ or Shasta daisies are among the best for attracting butterflies. The colors--"

She giggled as she silenced him with a kiss.

-------------------

TBC

---------------------

_And I am proud to say I am a Princess Bride thief ;)_

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

_Remembering Forward Again_

_Chapter 8_

_Author's Note: Arrrg. I wanted to have this finished right after the last chapter, but RL got in the way. But here it is: the last chapter of this little series. For those of you still reading, I thank you. Thank you for your support and wonderful reviews._

_The EllipsesBandit has once again worked her kung fu awesomeness on my fic. She is my Punctuation Princess and gives me my impromptu lessons in syntax. She's truly the greatest. Thank you, bud :)_

_Mingsmommy deserves a big plate of cookies and waffles (my specialty) for all of her time and effort. She's the Description Diva when I need the help. Thank you very much._

* * *

Grissom sighed again, and rolled to his back on the mattress. He'd spent the last hour alternating between staring at the wall on his right (the hems on the curtains were uneven), watching Sara sleep (her nose twitched seven times), and observing the ceiling fan (it took about three seconds for a full revolution). Sleep eluded him this afternoon, and he couldn't figure out why.

He didn't have any coffee with breakfast. There were no pending cases at the lab, and Ecklie hadn't been after him about paperwork. The last case he worked was a bank robbery. He'd taken no medication before he went to bed. Logic told him the insomnia wasn't due to caffeine, stress, or drugs.

Perhaps it had something to do with the bed, but the mattress was firm enough and his pillow was just the right amount of softness. The only things left were his bedmates.

Trigger lay sprawled at the end of the bed, snoring softly. The snoring wasn't bothersome; Grissom had gotten used to the dog's quiet wheezing sound. His feet had occasionally brushed against the boxer's legs which was normally not a problem except Grissom could feel the rough paws scratch his skin because there was no sheet or comforter covering him.

Somehow Sara managed to tightly cocoon herself in the entirety of both the sheet and comforter, leaving nothing for Grissom. She'd been sleeping peacefully, having never woken up once. When he tried tugging the material, she frowned in her sleep, and clutched the blankets closer.

Letting out a deep breath, he shook his head. During their time together, he'd only rarely encountered this cover hog. Had he known in the beginning, he would've have insisted they buy more blankets.

* * *

_July 2005_

At 2:57am Grissom threw the dish cloth over his shoulder and looked through the kitchen once last time to make sure he had everything. The popcorn had just been seasoned, and sat in a bowl on the counter. The brownies had just been pulled from the oven, and were now cooling off. Glancing toward the living room, he saw the blankets and pillows he'd set out earlier. He nodded to himself, knowing everything was ready.

When he asked if she wanted to do anything on their night off, she suggested they just relax, watching movies. And as a part of his effort to be more open with her, he offered to let their date be at his townhouse.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Grissom quickly wiped his hands on the towel before opening it. He found Sara, two bags in hand, with twinkling brown eyes and a bright smile. A pleasant warmth settled around his heart; no one, but her, had ever been so happy every time they saw him. After they greeted each other, she followed him inside, setting the bags on the dining room table. It was then Grissom kissed her sweetly simply because he wanted to.

When they parted, her grin widened, and he couldn't help but mirror it with his own crooked smile.

"I picked up some root beer on the way over, and the DVDs are in the other bag," she told him.

He nodded. "I made some snacks, and pizza will be here in twenty-five minutes."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "_You?_ Mr. Everything-Has-to-be-Homemade, actually ordered a pizza." Cocking her head to the side, she pondered amusingly, "Did you not have enough time to grow the wheat for the dough?"

"No." Walking over to the refrigerator, he placed the soda inside. "The tomatoes on the vine weren't quite ripe yet." When he came back, he placed his hand on the other bag. "So what's on today's theatre schedule?"

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's just some movies I brought from my house." Then she quickly added, "But we can watch something else if you don't like those."

Her shyness didn't surprise him. Sara had revealed pieces of herself during the last month, however she always seemed slightly uncomfortable doing so; it was as if she were afraid of his reaction to her life. Early on, he decided never to push and to make her feel at ease talking to him.

Grissom quirked an eyebrow as a silent question to open the bag. She inclined her head in acceptance and he pulled out the DVDs. As he went through the small stack, he noticed all of the covers depicted cartoon characters. He recognized only two titles: _Monsters, Inc._ and _Shrek_. The first because it was one of the movies he and Lindsey had seen together and the second because several lab technicians quoted the film for weeks.

His lips rose slightly. "I never would've taken you for a children's movie fan."

"Yeah…well…" Her face colored slightly. "It's all Greg's fault."

Both eyebrows rose this time. "How's that?"

"It was right after the Carpenter case, and he'd just come back to the lab. He kept following me around, telling stupid jokes and trying to get me to listen to his music; claimed I was in some sort of funk." She clarified, "You know, because of the lab explosion."

_And perhaps because of some idiot entomologist turning down your dinner invitation_, his brain so thoughtfully reminded him.

"Finally, he told me he had the perfect cure. He had two tickets to the opening of _Finding Nemo_ and begged me to go with him."

"We know how persistent he can be."

Smiling in agreement, Sara went on, "Greg hounded me for five days; five days of text messages, voicemails, and pages to his lab. I told him it would look ridiculous for two adults to see a kid's movie to which he informed me there would be plenty of other people there for the purpose of connecting with their inner child.

"He tried to sweeten the deal by saying he would pay for everything. Even said he'd buy me the biggest tub of popcorn tub there was. All that he wanted was to hang out with his friend." Shaking her head, she let out a short breath. "Of course I couldn't turn him down after he said that."

Grissom felt a slight pang of jealousy. It should have been him taking her to the movie. Okay, maybe not _that_ movie, but perhaps they would have gone to a museum or dinner like she suggested. Instead, Greg had been there for her; he was the one who hadn't been afraid, and therefore got to share something special with Sara. Grissom reminded himself she was there now, but he couldn't help the slight resentment toward the young man.

"So I went with Greg and…" She stopped for a moment as if she tried to think of her next words. "I don't know…I found the movie relaxing. There was no blood or violence or graphic death. Just…fun."

She looked down, grinning shyly. "It was...fish trying to escape from a tank and sharks who didn't want to eat other fish and…" She chuckled lightly. "That sounds stupid doesn't it?"

"Not at all." Grissom gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Many people find their escape through movies whether it's westerns or fantasy or through talking fish." His last comment caused her to look at him with a warm expression. "I think that's why there are many different genres; people hadn't found the one that suited them so they thought of new settings and characters."

"I like that." Sara nodded as she concurred. "After the movie, Greg just walked out with this smug smile, the punk." She scowled, but then smirked affectionately. "He knew how much I loved it. I gave in and told him he was welcome to introduce to other movies. The next night he came to me with this long list of kid's films that I absolutely had to see. We spent three months having these movies marathons, and then he finally deemed me caught up."

"Do you still go to the movies with him?"

"Yeah. We've seen everything so far, but nothing as great as _The Incredibles_. Though _Cars_ looks like it has a lot potential."

While listening to her, Grissom began to suspect she also loved this genre because she got to experience a part of her childhood that she'd previously thought was permanently lost. He didn't know all the details, but he knew everything leading up to her father's death and her life in foster care had not been pleasant at all. Now, Sara had received a chance to regain some of that lost happiness, and she had Greg to thank for it. Greg, _her friend_. Grissom now saw the former lab rat in a new light; he was indeed a good friend to her for helping her through rough patches and inadvertently giving her a precious gift.

Picking up the DVDs, Grissom studied the titles again. "Which one's your favorite?"

She didn't even stop to think about it. "_Finding Nemo_."

He pulled the case out of the stack. "We'll start with this one."

"That's okay. We can start with another one." She waved at the movies hastily. "I mean, monsters, superheroes, and ogres are just as interesting as talking fish." She gestured to him. "Besides, I know how you feel about children's films that deal with nature."

Now he was truly puzzled. "I've never had any problems with them."

"Gil," she said with a sweet exasperation, crossing her arms over her chest. "Catherine told everyone about the time you took Lindsey to see _A Bug's Life_."

He shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about; nothing happened."

"You almost got kicked out of the theatre because you kept going off, rather loudly, about all the factual errors!"

He managed a polite snort before stuttering a few times. Finally he managed, "I'll admit that maybe I shouldn't have said…things loud enough to where it disturbed other people." Grissom paused. "But it was obvious the writers hadn't done any research! The film was teaching children the wrong information on insects. The beetles--"

His rant was stopped when she placed her fingers gently over his mouth. Her deep, brown eyes glinted with humor. "It's just a movie, sweetie, not a Discovery channel documentary. In that world, it's okay for ants and caterpillars to be friends."

"But--"

"It's just a movie."

Her smile; that bright, delightful, wide-mouth smile. The one that made the lines around her mouth and eyes more prominent, but didn't make her look any less beautiful. Sara's smile was all it took for Grissom's resolve to crumble. Here he thought he had an unshakeable loyalty toward his insects, but the second she grinned, he felt himself barely nodding.

"You're rig-you make a good point," he mumbled. "It's just…a…" His jaw tightened. "…movie." A deep breath. "And I would be…fine if we watched your's."

With her eyebrow raised in question, she stared at him with doubtful eyes. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"No side commentary on errors?"

"None."

After a moment of silence, Sara relented, "Okay. But if you decide to point out every little thing that's wrong, I will give you _my_ full analysis of the James Bond films the next time you make me watch them."

He made an internal decision to simply eat popcorn every time he saw an error; he only hoped there was enough of the snack to get through the day.

-------------------------------

As soon as the movie began, Grissom began looking for the errors, but somewhere in the middle, he lost count. It wasn't because the writers had actually done their research or he wasn't an expert about aquatic life. Truthfully, he was more interested in the brunette leaning against him than what was on the television.

They had started just sitting next to each other, but after he returned with glasses of sodas, Sara decided to rest her head on his shoulder. He smiled and lifted his arm so she could snuggle closer. She stretched out beside him, sliding an arm across his torso and the other around his back in a soft hug.

He never pictured himself as one to enjoy cuddling, but she fit so perfectly in his arms. Hearing her occasional giggles made him promise himself he would not waste a moment in trying correcting the otosclerosis, should it return; just so he could always hear the sound of her melodious laughter. With his cheek on the top of her head, he closed his eyes and allowed the fragrance of her hair to invade his senses. If they could stay like this, he'd be willing to sit through an entire day's worth of poorly made nature-based fictional stories.

---------------------------

"_Honey?!"_

"_What?!"_

"_Where is my supersuit?!"_

"_What?!"_

"_Where is my supersuit?!"_

"_I-uh, I put it away!"_

"_Where?!"_

"_Why do you need to know?!"_

For the life of him, Grissom couldn't figure out why he was asking Sara for his supersuit; he hadn't pretended he was a superhero since he was seven years old. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he realized he had dozed off with a movie still playing. He glanced down to find Sara had fallen asleep too.

He tried to wake her by stroking her arm, but her response was to tighten the arm around him and lean her cheek further into his side. This time he stroked a little more vigorously and she opened her eyes.

She glanced up at him. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "It's 11:26."

"I should probably get going then." When she lifted herself away from him, he immediately missed the warmth.

She rubbed her eyes with both hands as if trying to wake herself up. It didn't work though, because her lids slipped shut again.

"Honey, you're way too tired to drive home. Why don't you stay here?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, and he could feel his heart rate speed up. Even though they'd been seeing each other for over three weeks, neither had slept over at the other's house. Their relationship had progressed nicely, but he didn't want to mess things up over a miscommunication; his offer only meant her sleeping over, not _sleeping over_.

There was a sigh of relief. "That sounds great because I am ten seconds from dropping right here."

"So,uh…if you're not comfortable with sharing…" He made a vague gesture to the upstairs. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"What? You don't want to sleep with me?"

"No, not at all!" he immediately shot back. "I want to sleep with you, but I mean…well, not until you're ready…and I don't want you to think…" The words on his lips died when she tilted her head, smirking adorably at him.

"Gil, you're the gentlest man I know; I know you'd never push for anything." She rose to her feet. "I'm really tired. Now I'm hoping we'll go upstairs and you'll lend me some clothes, and then I'm going to bed. And you can come with me or stay down here.

Joining her, he nodded. "Okay."

--------------------------------------

While she changed clothes and brushed her teeth in the guest bathroom, Grissom fought his nervousness. It had been a long time since he shared a bed with anyone. He worried that he might snore or accidentally hit her while shifting or steal the covers from her. There was no way to prevent him from possibly disturbing her sleep.

The other contributor to his nervousness was trying to decide what to wear. Normally he slept in only boxers, but he didn't feel comfortable being shirtless in front of her yet. He decided on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. While he waited for Sara, he debated if he needed more pillows. He'd only seen her bedroom once, but he remembered seeing four pillows on the mattress. Thinking she might want more than one, Grissom started searching through his linen closet. Then he wondered if she would need another blanket; it was possible she got cold while she slept. He pulled out two just in case.

Just as he finished inspecting the pillow and blankets for holes and to ensure they were clean, he heard Sara lightly clear her throat.

He thought she looked absolutely beautiful with her make-up removed and her hair slightly tousled. The best feature was her practically drowning in his shirt and sweat pants that were three sizes too big.

"I, uh…" Stopping, she allowed her eyes to rake over him. "Wow."

He pursed his lips in confusion. "What?"

A shy smile came across her face as if she just realized what she had done. "Nothing…I just can't believe…" Sara laughed nervously. "Is that, um, Snoopy on your boxers?"

He silently cursed himself; he'd grabbed the first set of boxers from his drawer without looking at them. Heat slowly rose in his face as he nodded, not daring to look her in the eye.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed," she told him. "I think you look cu-I think the boxers are..." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "I like them."

His lips involuntarily twitched into a slow smile. Still staring at the carpet, he mumbled a "thank you."

She eyed the bedding he had set down. "So you were serious about staying downstairs."

"Actually they're for you." At her creased brow, he clarified. "In here of course. In case you get cold or you don't like the pillows."

"I'll be fine," she chuckled, and he placed the items in the chair by the dresser in case she would need them.

He took a few steps to the window to shut the curtains. When he turned around, he saw her looking slightly apprehensively at the bed.

His gaze must have broken her from her thoughts because she looked up somewhat startled.

"Sorry," she began. "Which side do you…"

"Oh, uh…this side," he said, gesturing to the pillow closest to him. He pulled the dark green blanket and sheets back, and she crawled in the opposite side.

He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, wondering what he should do. Should he just go to sleep? Should he offer to hold her? Should he go ahead and put his arms around her? Thinking it would be best to ask her, he turned his head, she was already sleeping.

------------------------------

The comforting darkness of the room slowly pulled Grissom out of sleep. As his senses returned, he noticed he felt wonderfully warm and completely relaxed. Looking at the clock, he found the display read 8:48.

He stared at the clock in disbelief. 8:48? He hadn't slept for nine consecutive hours in years. Usually he got about five, maybe six hours sleep. While thinking the clock might be broken, he felt a puff of air on his neck. An unfamiliar, yet welcome weight lay on his collar bone. He looked at his other shoulder and just…stared.

During the afternoon Sara had curled up around him. Her face was about an inch from his. Her left arm was draped over his abdomen, and his legs were entangled with hers. Not to say his limbs weren't equally involved; one of his hands was splayed across her lower back and the other cradled her head.

He watched in astonishment because he'd never seen her sleeping. Sure, he'd found her napping in the break room a few times, but this moment was different. It was as if he'd been given permission to look at her.

The breathing against his neck was slow and deep from her slightly open mouth. Her forehead was wrinkled slightly as if she were studying a set of crime scene photographs. When his fingertips lightly touched her temple, she shifted, rubbing her cheek against his t-shirt. He instantly regretted wearing the shirt because he couldn't help but wonder how her cheek would feel on his bare shoulder. Almost on its own accord, his hand lifted from her head to trail lightly along her arm; the skin was softer and warmer than he'd imagined.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, Grissom wondered, why, _why_ he had waited so long. Had any more time passed, he could have missed this opportunity completely. Sighing, he allowed himself a moment to absorb everything about how she felt so close to him. The kiss must have awakened her because he felt her shift a bit, and he found himself staring in sleepy brown eyes.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he whispered back.

With no regard for morning breath, Grissom dipped his head to give her a few soft kisses. There was a certain intimacy in having sex, and sharing each other's bodies. But true intimacy came from sharing his time and his space with the warm brunette cuddled close to him. It was having her in the same bed with him; being close together in vulnerable positions and seeing the other's "bed head" in the evening. More and more, he felt safe enough to keep sharing his life.

Nuzzling his neck, she sank deeper into his embrace. Apparently she had read his mind about staying in bed all night long, and he tightened his arms around her.

"Told you you wanted to sleep with me," she murmured against his neck, and he chuckled deeply.

* * *

Their first few months had them always tangled together while sleeping. Some days she would be plastered against his back, nuzzling his neck. Other times he spooned behind her with their fingers entwined, and their hands held at her chest. Or his personal favorite; the two of them on their sides, facing each other, with her head tucked under his chin and her arm wrapped around his back. Eventually they moved to their respective sides of the bed, but not without some part of them, a foot or a hand, still touching the other.

Of course, that was near impossible with Sara completely wrapped in the sheets. He tried again, tugging more firmly. Instead of relinquishing her hold, she growled a little and opened her eyes.

"What?" she asked ,obviously annoyed.

"You have all the covers," he whispered. "May I have some?"

"There's plenty for you," she breathed as she closed her eyes.

Grissom sighed. "Sara," he tried again.

There was a "humph" as she uncurled her arm and allowed him some of the blankets. As he covered his legs and part of his waist, Grissom tried to think of why he married this stubborn, nagging, relentless woman.

Just then, she flopped over to his side, her knee coming dangerously close to hitting his groin and her hand covering his mouth and nose. She pressed against him, mumbling "love you" before she fell asleep again.

He thought of the deep kisses she gave him when he returned from out of town trips; how she watched a baseball game with him, even though she wasn't a fan; and how she placed a piece a fruit in his briefcase so he'd have something healthy to snack on at the lab.

Shifting away from her knee, he then removed Sara's hand from his face and placed it over his heart. Grissom's lips formed a small smile as he fell asleep next to his wife.

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The End

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_Thank you all for a great and fun year. I'll be going back to school so I don't how much time I'll have to write, but I'm going to try! A big, big fluffy thank you to all you wonderful readers out there; thank you for taking the time to read and review my stuff. You guys are truly awesome :)_


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